Vastus Universum 40K: The Advent of the Methusalon
by CypherPen
Summary: There is a vast universe out there, full of many alien species. One such species is the Methuselon, a race of psychic, sentient androids who strive to spread their Celestial Creed throughout the Milky Way, whether the galaxy's denizens want it or not. Told through the eyes of these religious invaders, this is a story of their triumphs and struggles in the face of unrelenting odds.
1. Prologue: The Return

**Disclaimer: I own none of the works belonging to the author(s), owner company, and game designer(s) of the Warhammer 40K game series or books, neither do I own any of the characters, units, races, and places inside said media, save for those imagined and created by me.**

**Prologue: The Return of the First Child.**

"_For millennia, the Imperium has encountered and fought against a myriad of foes who not only threaten its control over vast swaths of the Milky Way but the very survival of the human race. From the mad legions of Chaos to the deceitful and cunning Eldar and their dark kin, from the bloodthirsty Orks to the naïve but technologically superior Tau and the deathless Necrons, Mankind have at many times found itself with its back against the wall. Even that horrid and foul xeno race known as the Tyranids threatened everything the forces of the Imperium have fought so hard for with lasfire and spent bolter rounds, in the Emperor's name._

"_Yet only a few of the Imperium's greatest savants have ever wondered whether there are even more powerful enemies lurking elsewhere in the galaxy or even in adjacent galaxies. After all, this is one huge universe; anything could be lurking out there, ready to pounce on the Milky Way like a sudden Warp Storm. When that day finally comes, may the Emperor help us all."- A recorded transmission from Inquisitor Byron Malachi, aboard the battle cruiser Emperor's Flame in the year 753.M41. _

Millions of Terran years ago...

Long ago, in the Milky Way, there existed a technologically advanced and exceptional psychic reptilian race known as the Old Ones. Outclassing neighboring races who have not yet gained sentience, the Old Ones took to the stars, dreaming of extending their influence and legacy beyond their home world. Essentially the masters of the physical realm as well as the psychic realm known as the Immaterium, the Old Ones created a galaxy-wide empire that would've made the Eldar Empire look like a handful of dust in the face of a dust storm if it still existed today.

One of the Old Ones' greatest achievements was seeding otherwise barren planets with life. Like a flock of birds carrying seeds in their beaks, the Old Ones seeded every system they visited with life, some of which are to evolve into sentient civilizations millennia later. It is even said that Holy Terra was seeded as well by the Old Ones, the dinosaurs being one example. Of course, this is heresy in the eyes of the Ecclesiarchy, as the Imperial Creed dictates that the Emperor of Mankind created all life on Terra before his incarnation into a human body.

Currently, every Eldar believes that his race is the Old Ones' greatest creation and only legacy. However, if he was able to look millions of years into the past, he would find himself partially right, for though every Craftworld Eldar is a part of the Old Ones' remaining legacy, they are hardly the first or the greatest.

After seeding an innumerable number of worlds with life, the Old Ones longed for a daughter race with who to enjoy the galaxy. They also wanted something to display as a crowning achievement, as a sort of trophy to remind themselves of how far they'd come, as well as to help combat the growing threat of the star vampires, the C'tan.

Going back on their deep knowledge of creation and psychic infusion, the Old One's created a humanoid race not too dissimilar from the appearance and capabilities of today's Eldar. However, the wise Old Ones realized that more needed to be done. After all, being satisfactory is not going to cut it in the long run, especially when it is predicted that a brutal galactic war is to come to pass. After making preparations, the Old Ones infused the new race with more psychic potential, as well as the ability to grasp technology on a nearly instinctive level. In every way, this race was to be considered by the Old Ones as the perfect race, much like a baby in its mother's arms. Therefore, the race became known as the Novica or 'the Newborn'.

Ever curious about its surroundings, as well as the laws that governed the universe, the Novica met and even exceeded the Old Ones' expectations in every way imaginable. Whatever project the Old Ones assigned to the Novica, they flawlessly completed it. Whichever stretch of the galaxy the Old Ones wanted them to explore and to map, the Novica did so very easily. Perhaps the Novica's greatest achievement at the time was helping their parent race construct the Webway network, which allowed them to travel freely though the previously calm and peaceful Immaterium to another place in the galaxy, travelling at greater-than-light speeds to their far-flung colonies. In addition to the formation of the Webway, the Novica perfected what would be considered the precursor of the Warpspace jump. On one such experimental trip to an uncharted area of space, the Novica could never anticipate that encountering the predominant race there would mean the end of the Old Ones millennia later.

Upon reappearing in realspace, the Novica picked up several strange transmissions coming from a nearby planet with green lights dotting its surface. Dropping several probes into the planet's atmosphere, the Novica hid their ships in the wide arcing, sulfuric rings of a nearby gas giant as they took a look at the various cities that dotted the surface of the darkened planet, which looked more like massive necropolises. For months, they studied the strange people's language and culture while they go about their daily lives, attending daily funeral services and processions. Their skins, however, was marred with various cancers. In fact, the Novica learned that each of these people has an average life expectancy of at least thirty painful, Terran years. They also learned that the disease afflicting them is genetic in nature, a byproduct of their ancestors' exposure to the harmful radiation of a dying sun hovering over their home planet thousands of light-years away. After days of discussion aboard the Novica flagship, the Novica decided that the strange people would make valuable allies if the two races could coexist with each other as if the strange people's afflictions are cured. On the fringe of a slowly expanding, foreign empire, that became the day when the Novica came face to face with the Necrontyr, who at the time were slightly more technologically advanced than the newcomers.

At first, the Necrontyr were openly hostile to the Novica 'invaders', as they considered them. Novica escorts were shot out of the atmosphere and a few of the larger battleships were heavily damaged by gauss planetary defenses. It was only after the Novica broadcasted their peaceful intentions to the inhabitants in their language when the Necrontyr reluctantly allowed the shuttles to land on the planetary lord's palace grounds. The unknown Necrontyr lord welcomed the newcomers cautiously, not knowing what to make of these pointy-eared, perfectly healthy strangers. However, after a few hours of speaking with the Novica, he realized that perhaps their technology could very well improve his race, thus giving him all the support he needs to become an Overlord or even a Phaeron, the supreme ruler of this particular sector.

For about two Terran centuries, the Novica and Necrontyr exchanged technologies. In exchange for teaching the Necrontyr scientists, the Crypteks, about teleportation, long-distance scans, and autonomous robotics, as well as several medical technologies, the Novica learned how to construct stasis and consciousness-transference devices and were in the process of developing phase technology. At the same time, both races fought alongside each other against the invasions of other species, as well as bands of Necrontyr rebels who hated the ruling Necrontyr dynasty for their cruelty and the newcomers for the danger they supposedly posed. For this period of time, it seemed that peace will be long lasting for this sector. However, the wheels of fate that would soon lead to the greatest war the galaxy will ever experience, the War in Heaven, will begin to turn when the Novica introduce the Necrontyr to the Old Ones. Whether the Novica are very naïve for a race that's able to predict future events or whether it was a steep price that they're willing to pay is currently unknown. What matters now is that hell is soon to break loose.

Over time, the Necrontyr, believing the Old Ones and the Novica to be two completely different species rather than related to each other, viewed the Old Ones more closely than they had done to the Novica. When it became apparent that the Old Ones were nearly immortal compared to the short-lived Necrontyr, a deep-seated jealousy filled their hearts and, without so much as a provocation, the Necrontyr attacked the Old Ones viciously. At first, the Old Ones were stunned by the sudden assault. However, they counterattacked with a much fiercer strike, beginning the War in Heaven. Despite being technologically advanced, the slow-moving Necrontyr were ruthlessly attacked from every direction by the rapid and disorienting tactics of the patient Old Ones, who used the Webway to devastating effect. Whole worlds that once belonged to the Necrontyr were conquered in a matter of days as the Old Ones use stealthy implanted builders to secretly construct Web Gates on said planets, allowing their armies to pour out onto the surface. Slowly but certainly, the Necrontyr were being pushed back to their home system.

During the devastating war, the Novica, not wanting to lose the blessings that came with being the Old Ones' lap dog , yet didn't want to lose access to Necrontyr technology, played the part of the middleman. While acting as the Old Ones' advisors and tacticians, the Novica also were secret trading partners of the Necrontyr. For a time, the Novica prospered while the other two powerful races fought each other. However, this brief golden age of the Novica was never meant to last when the Old Ones uncovered the Novica's secret dealings on the eve of the final battle of the war.

Furious, as well as feeling betrayed, the Old Ones gave the Novica an ultimatum: sever all relations with the Necrontyr and fight against them or be destroyed along with them. Though the Novica were powerful in their own right, being bolstered by Necrontyr technology and exceptional psionics, even the they knew that they were no match for the Old Ones. On the day of the final battle, the Novica grudgingly assaulted the Necrontyr's defenses from many directions, scattering their battle lines in the surprise attack, allowing the Old Ones to sweep in for the kill.

The battle so devastated the Necrontyr that their broken and heavily battered forces scurried back to their home system, leaving scores of worlds behind. Having lost a potential trading partner, as well as a great ally, the Novica was forced back under the now suffocating wing of the Old Ones. However, it didn't stop there.

Still angry with the Novica for consorting with the Necrontyr, the Old Ones punished its daughter race by forcing it to give up a considerable number of worlds they owned, as well as taking away the privilege of Webway travel. However, the very punishment that drove the nail the deepest into the coffin and paved the way for the future schism between the two races was the Old Ones disowning them of their rightful place at their side, swearing that a newer, more worthy race will take their place. Shocked by such a brash edict, the Novica stuck close to their remaining worlds, brooding with a resentment that will turn into a seething hatred of the very race that birthed them.

Meanwhile, under the baleful radiation of their home star, the Necrontyr also seethed with hatred of the Old Ones and of the traitor Novica. Though no one knows whether it was jealousy of the Old Ones or the shock of being betrayed by the seemly friendly Novica that pushed them pass the brink, the Necrontyr became convinced that no life form in the galaxy deserved to live. With a ravishing desire to purge the galaxy of life, the Necrontyr began searching the cosmos for a weapon they can use against the Old Ones, using the long-range scanners the Novica gave to them to great effect. It will not be long before the Necrontyr find the C'tan, who will eventually be channeled into mobile, necrodermis bodies, turning in living gods among mortals. It will also not be long before the C'tan encouraged the Necrontyr to do the same, purging themselves of their flesh and blood shells in favor of cold, nigh indestructible necrodermis bodies, all at the terrible cost of losing their emotions and free will. Lastly, it will not be long before the C'tan led their inexhaustible legions of undead, robotic servants, now known as the Necrons, on a quest to renew the War in Heaven and to reap the living in a galaxy-wide Red Harvest.

The Necron assault hit the Old Ones with the likes of which they have never seen. In a matter of months, entire planets and solar systems were scoured of life, Old One and otherwise. The tactics the Old Ones employed during the initial war with the Necrontyr were ineffective, as the fearless Necron warriors were impervious to sudden shocks of morale and their necrodermis made them unstoppable. To add insult to injury, the Necron armies, particular their Crypteks, were the ones who were outmaneuvering the Old Ones. As the Old Ones relied on their Webway for moving from one place to another in a flash, they were at a severe disadvantage, as the Necrons destroyed every Webway Gate they encountered. In contrast, the deathless enemy teleported with insulting ease without having to enter the Immaterium, which the C'tan abhorred. Indeed, a much darker shadow fell over the once mighty Old Ones as their civilization and glory fell like a sunset being shrouded by storm clouds.

In desperation, the Old Ones sought out the very race they punished, the Novica, for aid. Claiming that, due to having so few planets left from which to gather resources, the Novica were unfit to stop the Necron onslaught even if they have enough manpower. Feeling that there was no time to ferry the needed resources or provide the necessary manpower, the Old Ones left the Novica to their devices and began creating new psychic races to combat the growing threat of the C'tan, who were particular weak against psychic energy and had commenced a plan to construct pylons throughout the galaxy in an attempt to forever cut off the Immaterium from reality. Such structures were built on what would later become the Imperium Fortress World of Cadia, where an area of space-time stability known as the Cadian Gate hangs near the Eye of Terror.

Unbeknownst to the Old Ones, the Novica actually has plenty of resources and manpower. However, most of them were being devoted to constructing massive city-ships known as universopolises, which are to carry the entire Novica race out of the Milky Way galaxy to find a new home within the nearby Andromeda Galaxy. These huge ships, which would've been the size of an Imperial Hive City, are likened to the Craftworlds of the Eldar, except that they are much smaller and far more numerous. Whether the Novica's secret intergalactic exodus was due to the horrifying visions of the future they were having or whether they planned the endeavor from the very beginning of their punishment, no one knows. What is known; however, was that the new psychic races, which included the technology-mimicking Jokaero, the Krork, who are believed to be the ancestors of modern-day Orks, and the Eldar fought viciously against the Necrons, reconquering planets that once fell to the undead foe. Though the Eldar were less psychically potent than the Novica, they showed much greater promise and the Old Ones gave them all of their knowledge at their disposal. Turning their attention back to the Novica, the Old Ones saw that they have lied to them about the resources and manpower and were even now trying to escape the galaxy. Even more furious at the apparent treachery of its greatest creation, the Old Ones ordered the Eldar to pursue and to exterminate them, once and for all. More than willing to prove themselves to their masters, the Eldar complied.

About twelve thousand kilometers from the planet that will become known as Terra in the eons to come, the Eldar clashed with the fleeing Novica in a massive space battle that will ultimately change the geographical and biological state of the system forever. For every clash of psychic energy, volcanoes erupted, tsunamis ravaged the coastlines, and faults formed on Terra's tectonic plates. Whole species either went into hiding or became extinct. On the nearby, jungle-covered natural satellite that is to be named Luna, the thriving flora and fauna were utterly wiped out as stray blasts of energy and pieces of spacecraft pockmarked the surface. This caused unstable geographic conditions on the planetoid that allowed lava to flow onto the surface, eventually cooling and turning the moon into the pale, lifeless ball of rock that the Imperium is more familiar with. The psychic clash was so great that it even caused a spike in the sun's activity. Huge solar flares and prominences arced outward from the massive star, reaching even pass Venus.

Though outclassed by their predecessors in both psychic potential and technology, the Eldar proved their superiority in speed and stealth by taking out nine universopolises before the majority of their fleets were finally driven off by the Novica's weaponry. As the Eldar limped painfully back home, a few of the destroyed universopolises collided into several planets in the same system, including Holy Terra, forever shaping their features forever. The nearest universopolis crashed on the Yucatan Peninsula on Terra. The powerful collision kicked up a massive amount of iridium and smoke into the air and covered the skies, forcing the world into a devastating nuclear winter that saw the mass extinctions of various species, including the dinosaurs, and plunged the world into a bitter ice age.

The second city-ship crashed into the aquatic world near Terra, a planet that would be later known as Mars. The collision created what is known as Olympus Mons, a massive supervolcano whose eruption created such an unusual greenhouse effect that the water evaporated within days, exposing the iron-rich rocks underneath, as well as the marine microbiology, which died quickly due to the sudden lack of oxygen. Over time, as the rocks oxidized further, the majority of suspended moisture condensed and froze into an ice shelf capping the northern pole of the planet. In the eons to come, the Red Planet would become its nickname and the techpriests and savants residing there would currently be clueless about its past.

As the third universopolis plunged into the gas giant that would be known as Jupiter, the overwhelming atmospheric pressures crushed the ship, putting extreme pressure on its psychognitor drives. This created a huge explosion of psychic energy that destabilized the swirling gas clouds of the gas planet, creating the massive swirling gaseous disturbance known as the Great Red Spot. Similarly, a fourth universopolis crashed into Saturn, dislodging a large swath of dust and ice crystals from the gas planet's atmosphere. The cosmic debris then formed into a massive ring around the planet, giving the celestial body its modern-day appearance. However, the remaining universopolises drifted into space, never to be seen again.

Back to the war, the Old Ones were on the brink of extinction. The Krork, ever thirsty for a fight, even with sister races, turned on the Old Ones in a slaughtering fury. To make matters worse, the imperfect and unstable psychic emissions of the younger races, coupled with the bloodshed wrought in realspace, had turned the usually gentle and peaceful Immaterium into the hellish landscape of today, as new bloodthirsty gods took form and horrid warp entities known as the Enslavers possessed sentient beings, turning them into living portals through which more of their kind can enter reality. As a result, the Old Ones had to destroy most of their Webway Gates to prevent the entry of these foul entities into reality. However, they knew that, as long as there were sentient races to possess, the Enslavers will always be a problem and the Necron will continue to reap the living, feeding their life energy to their C'tan masters. Therefore, one solution remained: every single race and species in the galaxy must be wiped out.

Unable to do the tragic task themselves, the Old Ones decided to create a race of galactic locusts that can adapt to any enemy tactic and weaponry by consuming and assimilating the appropriate DNA. These monsters are to be governed by a single intelligence which will guide them on a quest to consume every race they encounter, fueling their own reproduction and evolution. The very microbes that will evolve into that ultimate bioweapon were to be contained within a single egg that will crack open within five Terran years. To ensure that these locusts would not become a future problem for the Old Ones should their task of scouring the galaxy of life is completed, the Old Ones implanted a 'death gene' in their DNA structure, which will cause every member of their species to suddenly drop dead within five Terran centuries of their release from the egg. Caring about the survival of their race and that of the beloved Eldar, the Old Ones began making preparations to gather up that race and flee the galaxy together before the egg cracks.

Unfortunately for the Old Ones, the few Novica ships that remained in the galaxy to watch what would become of the war found out about the location of the egg. In a daring raid on the main research facility housing the weapon, they stole the egg and put it on stasis, freezing its biological countdown. Before they could be stopped, the remaining Novica ships escaped to join the rest of the race in the Andromeda Galaxy. Left without their greatest weapon, the Old Ones either fled the galaxy altogether or were pushed into extinction. The C'tan and their Necron servants; however, went into hibernation, waiting eons for the galaxy to replenish itself with life to begin a Red Harvest anew. Thus, the War of Heaven have finally ended.

''''''''''''''

Millennia after the War in Heaven...

The Andromeda Galaxy

Long after the War in Heaven has ended in the Milky Way Galaxy and the remaining races are recovering from that horrific war, the race that escaped to the nearby Andromeda Galaxy has forged a mighty empire. However, before this time, the Novica have experience a dark period of war, collapse, and destruction known as the Midnight Era that nearly brought the race over the brink of no return. Millennia ago, during the huge space battle with the Eldar, the Novica had lost nine universopolises, some of which housed the majority of their leaders and their supreme ruler. Thus left leaderless, the Novica race split into three warring factions who fought each other during the Midnight. Coupled with the depredations of foreign races, every devastating battle fought brought the Novica closer to oblivion. It will not be long; however, before a Novica prophetess named D'hartellos amass enough followers to wage war on the three factions, eventually unifying them under the encompassing banner of the Celestial Creed. Shortly after the last faction submitted, the alien races attacking the Novica either converted to the Creed or were routed, pushed out of the Novica's three home systems.

After this period of time, which later became known as the Rectification Wars, the wider Andromeda Galaxy became a new frontier that, though filled with danger, provided ample converts for the newborn faith, as well as new discoveries to satisfy the ever curious Novica. Though the road was long and brutal, the Novica pressed onward, confident in the fact that, as the Prophetess constantly assured, the Celestial Mother is on their side.

Considering themselves to be the only race that was barely devastated by the War of Heaven, outlasting even the Old Ones, the Novica felt as if they'd stood the test of time despite insurmountable odds. Therefore, they discarded the moniker of 'Novica' and adopted a new name, a name that showed their status in the universe. They are now the Methuselon, the 'Long-Lived."

However, the Methuselon weren't just concerned about their expanding empire; they were also concerned with how the denizens of the Milky Way were doing after their departure to the Andromeda Galaxy. Sending probes capable of reaching speeds up to tens of thousands of light-years per hour, far faster than what Webway travel could muster, they found themselves staring at what was a vast galactic empire. A more thorough investigation revealed something that caused the Methuselon to look on with great interest: this very empire belonged to the Eldar, the very race who the Old One created to replace them. As the Methuselon were no longer the people they were during the Midnight Era, they decided to enter into peaceful negotiations with the Elder Empire, hoping to convert them as well to the Celestial Creed.

However, none of the Methuselon was sure about how the Eldar would react to their return to the Milky Way, having learned from history of how they inadvertently managed to severely cripple their society. Therefore, In addition to the Methuselon's greatest diplomats and priests, several elite commando battalions were to be sent in a separate fleet. In this way, if the Eldar murder the diplomats and priests, the Methuselon would brutally retaliate by targeting the Eldar's galactic infrastructure, bringing the race onto its knees both militarily and economically and leaving it vulnerable to its enemies.

After several days of preparation, the delegation was placed into one of the Methuselon's strongest fleets while the commandoes were placed into another. Before the ships ever left the space docks; however, the Methuselah took another look at the Eldar Empire. What they saw at its center stunned them beyond belief. There, at the center of the empire, a massive Warp Storm had appeared and was swallowing up the central worlds, spreading outward toward the outlining worlds. Tens of millions of space craft could be seen leaving the doomed planets, a considerable number of them being caught and dragged inward by the super rift's gravity well into its gaping maw. Minutes later, a ripple of psychic energy crossed the massive distance between the Milky Way and Andromeda, buffeting the closest Methuselon-held planets. Though the Methuselon were a race who held greater mental and psychic discipline than even the Eldar, a few of them were unable to handle the psychic assault and went mad. They were quickly put out of their misery.

Looking across millions of light-years of space at the plight of the Eldar, the Methuselon concluded that they were finished for good and aborted the mission. They recalled the probes back to the galaxy and continued their expansion for the next millennia, certain that nothing will impede their progress. Unfortunately for them, they will find themselves facing a powerful enemy that's much closer to home than the distant Eldar.

Known as the Turanek, these warlike species ruled a mighty empire that rivaled that of the Methuselon. Resembling Terran tortoises, the Turanek have thick, armored bodies and muscles so powerful that a Space Marine would be ripped apart just as easily as a Guardsman would when fighting such a formidable opponent. To make matters worse, their bodies contained a mysterious substance that provided exceptional protection against psychic attacks, which the Methuselon heavily relied on.

Almost immediately after the two species encountered each other, the Turanek launched a great assault on the Methuselon. At first, the Methuselon stalled the foreign enemy, utilizing the hit and run tactics they learned from watching the Eldar. However, the Turanek's numbers, coupled with their resistance to psychic attacks, soon proved too much for the Methuselon and the latter found themselves pushed back as the Turanek conquered their planets. For every decade that passed, the Methuselon lost a considerable amount of planets to the Turanek until finally, they were left with their home systems in the galaxy. Realizing that they would soon be pushed out of the Andromeda Galaxy, the Methuselon realized that one solution remained: they must use the bioweapon.

Taking the egg out of stasis, the Methuselon placed it on one of their fastest autonomous ships and flew it toward the Turanek home world thousands of light-years away. Despite being severely damaged by the Turanek Navy, the ship eventually entered the planet's atmosphere and crashed landed on the palace garden of the Turanek emperor. Believing that it was a meteorite, he ordered his soldiers to investigate. What happened next spelled the end of the Turanek civilization.

When the soldiers got closer to the crashed ship, they were attacked by swarms of small, ravenous, serpentine critters with razor-sharp teeth. Originally microbes that hibernated inside the egg aboard the ship minutes ago, they had mutated and evolved into the slithering horrors they are now. Despite being so well armored that bolter rounds would explode harmlessly against their bodies, the Turanek soldiers were no match for the small slithering monsters coming at them, the critters' acidic saliva eating effortlessly through the large creatures' carapaces. Needless to say, the alien soldiers were all reduced to bones in a matter of seconds.

As a majority of the creatures swarmed from the crash site and into the city, those who had eaten their filled scurried back to the ship, where a growing bulbous mass waited. The pulsating mass grabbed the critters with tentacles and shoved them down several maws, digesting them alive. Gathering the harvested Turanek DNA, the mass began producing larger, more powerful monsters with which to devour all life on the planet, all of them controlled by a single terrifying communal mind.

From the safety of their home systems, the Methuselon watched as the Turanek home planet was stripped of its biosphere, including its atmosphere and water. They watched as a swarm containing thousands of strange ships rose off the barren surface of the planet and broke off into several smaller swarms. They also watched as those swarms attacked the surrounding planets, subjecting them to the same fate.

Terran years turned into decades and then to centuries as the Methuselon watched the living weapon devoured the rest of the Turanek Empire, driving the warlike species into extinction. Having named the species of galactic locusts the Famesa, 'the Hungry', the Methuselon watched on as the ravenous species consume various races with a minor amount of worry, knowing full well of the expiration date the Old Ones encoded into their genes. After all, it's been three hundred and fifty eight Terran years since the bioweapon had been unleashed.

However, two hundred and four Terran years later and the Methuselon were horrified. Not only were the Famesa still alive but they were inching closer to their home systems. Worse, the Famesa seemed to be attracted by the psychic presence of various sentient species, the Methuselon having the strongest of them all. Concluding that the so-named 'death gene' had been rendered useless by various mutations caused by incorporating more DNA than the Old Ones anticipated, the Methuselon worked feverishly to find ways to save their race from extinction. One fruit of the desperate endeavor was creating several beacons that gave off more psychic energy than the Methuselon themselves. Launching these beacons into different directions in the universe, the Methuselon watch as the Famesa fleets split off and chased the beacons across the cosmos, consuming every star system that crossed their paths. Unfortunately, a sizable Famesa fleet, alerted by the presence of the Methuselon, rapidly closed in, eager to incorporate their highly psychic genes in their gene pool. Needless to say, the Methuselon were running out of time.

Finally, a desperate plan was made. The Methuselon constructed millions of sleek, robotic bodies on a grand scale and begun the process of adding embellishments and other components. Among these additions, a highly specialized psychognitor brain was added to each robotic body, which would greatly improve calculating ability and will take the place of their organic brains. At around the same time, a single psychic beacon of a much greater output than its predecessors was being constructed. Finally, a second device known as a Phantasma Vox Engine was constructed on the Methuselon's Empire capital planet. This massive tower was to play an important role in the continued existence of the Methuselon race when the next step is completed.

When the Famesa were sighted about two-hundred thousand kilometers from the farthest Methuselon planet, the location of the psychic beacon under construction, the next step that will change the race forever began. Utilizing the consciousness transference procedures the Necrontyr underwent to transfer their consciousness into the necrodermis bodies, the Methuselon transferred their consciousness into their robotic bodies, with one key difference: they also transferred their souls. Thus, the Methuselon were able to keep their emotions, as well as their free will and psychic potential. Unfortunately, though the Methuselon had lost their ability to feel pain, they lost their ability to feel pleasure and would have to find a way to compensate.

That very day, the longest living flesh and blood sentient race to ever continued to exist past the War of Heaven was purged, replaced by a race of androids who would prove to be more cunning and dangerous than the former.

Invigorated by the strong and nigh immortal bodies they now enjoyed, the Methuselon boarded their ships by the millions and gathered about a thousand kilometers in front of the doomed planet, anticipating the arrival of the Famesa fleet. They were intent on holding it at bay long enough for the super psychic beacon to be completed. When the enemy fleet arrived, both forces clashed, creating a mockery of the War in Heaven, as the Famesa tried to break through the Methuselon Navy and make planetfall, releasing countless numbers of mycetic spores at the planet when they got in range. A majority of them were shot out of the sky by planetary defenses and the rest were dealt with by the planetary defense forces, their occupants cut down by the hundreds.

Meanwhile, back on the Methuselon capital planet, the Phantasma Vox Engine whirred to life. In addition to retrieving the badly damaged robotic bodies of the Methuselon slain in a similar manner to the Necrons' phase technology, Methuselon souls were retrieved as well. Long ago, the Methuselon discovered that each race in the universe has a distinct frequency attached to their souls. By tapping into this frequency, the engine could call in the souls of slain Methuselon, holding them in its myriad chambers until they could be placed into new bodies. Similarly, new Methuselon souls can be called out from the Warp and placed as well after being scoured for the taint of Chaos by the phantasmaseers. Knowing all too well that a high concentration of such psychic energy will attract the denizens of the Warp, the engine were covered with wards known as Hades sigils, which also functioned as purity runes, preventing the corruption of Chaos from infesting the souls within.

Unfortunately, though the Methuselon were nigh immortal, they were still outnumbered. Having consumed thousands of planets, the Famesa have grown to many times their initial size and were relentless. Many sections of the Methuselon Navy were overrun and the central lines of the massive fleet were being overtaxed by the bulk of the Famesa fleet, as well as the lost of their flanks. Just as all was lost, the beacon was completed and, at the orders of the Methuselon empress, launched in the direction of the Milky Way. Believing that the powerful burst of psychic energy would lead them to a system bountiful with life forms to consume and to incorporate, the Famesa fleet broke off from the battle and chased the beacon, its highly specialized Narvhal ship using psychic energy to bend the gravities of nearby stars, allowing the fleet to move at subluminal speed.

Joyous over the victory, the Methuselon regrouped on their home worlds while several key members of the Methuselon military debated on the race's next course of action concerning the Milky Way. The Eldar Empire no longer existed, the Famesa would be too busy consuming worlds to pay attention to the Methuselon, wreaking havoc on any sentient races that remained there, and the super psychic beacon would most likely attract the splinter Famesa fleets from different sides of the Milky Way. Perhaps it was time for the Methuselon to make their mark on the Milky Way once again, this time with the teachings of the Celestial Creed and the blessing and guidance of the Mother of All. Perhaps it was time for the banished 'Novica' to come back home. With an edict from the empress, the Methuselon put into motion plans to invade the Milky Way and to forge an empire that will rival even that of the Eldar... and beyond.

Meanwhile, if one calculates the trajectory of the super psychic beacon, one would realize that it will past by the Oceanic Death World of Tyran, a dangerous world known for its deadly sea life. However, unbeknownst to the guardsmen stationed there, an even more terrifying life form is en route, one that will consume the entire planet and implant into the minds of the Imperium and the other races the vision of a merciless and savagely hungry enemy that will stop at nothing to consume and to obtain every DNA in the galaxy. Thus, that was how the Great Devourer came to the Milky Way.


	2. Chapter 1: The Very First Step

**Disclaimer: I own none of the works belonging to the author(s), owner company, and game designer(s) of the Warhammer 40K game series or books, neither do I own any of the characters, units, races, and places inside said media, save for those imagined and created by me.**

**Chapter 1: The Very First Step **

"_When ignorance is your own, learn. When ignorance is your enemy's, exploit."-_ Methuselon proverb.

**The planet of Tyran Primus, in the year 745.M41.**

The storm-swept waters of the Ocean Planet bashed against the tall, thick ferrocrete walls of the huge fortress. Its surfaces were pockmarked with several claw marks, proof of the hungry sea monsters' attempts to bypass its walls and feast on the alien food inside. From the time of their settlement on Tyran Primus, many of the foreign visitors had fallen to the awaiting maws of the native inhabitants lurking beneath the waves, their exotic flesh so appetizing compared to the usual prey that many of the monsters assault the fortress from time to time to grab more of the visitors, only to be repelled each time by the dangerous weaponry they can bring to bear.

However, the foreigners, proud servants of the God-Emperor, were more troubled by reports of the Explorator ships encountering an increasing number of Dead Worlds, worlds that have been stripped of life by an unknown force. One such ship, the survey starship _Emperor's Reach, _was sent out a few days ago and was due to return to the fortified outpost hours ago. However, for some reason, the starship was uncharacteristically late.

As the planet was located at the very edge of Imperial space on the Eastern Fringe, where just about anything could come from the unexplored frontier, the fortress was in no way defenseless. Along with a full regiment of the brave men and women of the Imperial Guard, as well as a group of psykers dispatched from the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, the Skitarii, the powerful mechanical warriors of the Adeptus Mechanicus, kept a constant vigil on the outpost. Magos Varnak was the chief cogboy maintaining the vast array of defenses at the fortress' disposal. From the devastating array of autocannon and lascannon turrets to the four heavily protected, massive planetary defense lasers that formed a box around the fortress, Imperial Outpost TY295-5843 will not fall easily to any xeno, known or otherwise.

His robotic hands folded behind his back, and the mechadendrites waving lazily on his back like the tentacles of one of Tyran's myriad sea monsters, Magos Explorator Varnak scanned the tense and alert faces of the personnel he passed by with the pair of optic sensors that replaced his eyeballs long ago. Flanked by a handful of the Skitarii he'd chosen himself as well as three Servitors, Varnak inspected the narrow corridors of the fortress, the auditory sensors that replaced his ears picking up on the hushed and tensed breaths of his charges with the crystal-clear precision that is only rivaled by that of a Space Marine. Lastly, his brain or whatever was left of it, nearly replaced by a cognitor as it was, could sense the aura of despair coming of the psykers' living quarters. Despite having almost nil interest in the affairs of the psychic mutants, a wildcard these flesh and blood humans were, he felt a tinge of pity. After all, they still haven't fully recovered from what transpired a few days ago.

Several days after the _Emperor's Reach_ had left the planet, a fast moving object passed the planet, shining as bright as a comet even in the rarely cloudless noonday of Tyran. Though he was no psyker, Varnak somehow knew that the object in question was psychic in nature, as a majority of the psykers, most of them sanctioned psykers often used in battle and the rest being astropaths, reacted unexpectedly and violently to whatever energy it emitted. While some clenched their heads as if having a splitting headache, others began screaming, crying streams of blood. The few who went mad and were reduced to drooling wrecks; however, were given the Emperor's Grace from the business end of Commissar Octavius' bolt-pistol, forever relieved of their misery. Needless to say, no one was able to relax after that day.

Halting, his retinue coming to a stop, Varnak glanced up at the lone camera in a corner. Attached to its side was a pair of twin-linked lasguns. The camera swiveled downward as if it knew that its creator and master was looking at it, giving him and his retinue a once over before continuing its task. Waving a hand over the camera, Varnak muttered a quick prayer, thanking the machine spirits inside the device for their vigilance and encouraging them to continue working admirably.

Continuing his stroll, he came across two guardsmen who were hiding in a room, gambling with makeshift die and metal sheets for cards. When they saw him, they quickly jumped up and saluted. His respiratory pumps sucking in air through his nasal filters, Varnak could swear that he could smell their fear.

Knowing full well what they were doing but asking anyway purely out of habit, Varnak spoke in a booming mechanized voice, his mouth and larynx replaced with a vox speaker long ago, "What in the Omnissiah's name are you doing?"

Both guardsmen's faces paled, their nervous eyes daring a glance at the servitors behind the magos, knowing full well of who they used to be. Originally guardsmen who were caught sneaking away from their duties by Commissar Octavius, they were promptly handed over to Magos Varnak who, after wiping their memories and implanting various kinds of machinery, wires, and cognitors into their bodies, forever turned them into mindless, obedient servants.

"Um, w-we were just,...erm... off-duty, sir!" One of the guardsmen stuttered.

"Y-yes, we are due to report back to Colonel Augusta in 1300 hours which is right about now, sir!" the other guardsman agreed.

Holding the two guardsmen in his unblinking glance, Varnak would've smiled if he still had a mouth. These two reminded him of his days as a bumbling Runepriest, always coming up with an excuse for every shortcoming. Eventually, Logis Hamonis wasn't so easily fooled and thus consigned Varnak to several mind-numbing projects as punishment. Still, he was a much better maker of excuses than these two soldiers.

"Excellent!" he finally spoke, his amplified voice making the two men jump. He was amused by their misery. "Come, I am on my way to meet with Colonel Augusta and Commissar Octavius, anyway. I could use the extra company." Having no other choice, the two guardsmen complied.

After about twelve silent minutes spent walking through the corridors, Varnak and his retinue finally arrived at Colonel Augusta's office. Entering through the double doors, Varnak found both the colonel and commissar waiting for him. When Octavius shot a deathly glare at the two guardsmen, both men shrank back slightly.

"I was in the mood for some extra company so I took these two men along with me. I apology if I've interrupted their previously assigned duties," Varnak vouched for the guardsmen. Octavius' glare relaxed a bit but he kept it trained on the two men.

"Actually, you've done me a favor, magos," the colonel spoke, pushing aside several strands of brown hair from her face. A tired smile stretched across her face. "In fact, I need two guardsmen to man the flak guns on the fortress' eastern wall."

"One man was knocked into the sea by a strong gust of wind," Octavius added formally. The pale scar that ran horizontally across his face became fiercer when he glowered. "The other, I executed for cowering underneath the gun itself."

Not the one to be concerned with the actions of the Imperial officers, Varnak turned to the guardsmen. "Well, I see you next time... if the Omnissiah wills it."

"Yes, magos," one of the guardsmen saluted as both men went off to their assigned post.

Turning back to the two officers, Varnak let out a loud hiss, which could translate into a sigh. Flexing his robotic fingers to get the artificial blood flowing into them, Varnak turned to Augusta. "So," he finally spoke. "How are the guardsmen doing?"

The colonel shrugged. "At the moment, everyone of them is tensed, especially after the day before," she answered. "Coupled with the _Emperors Reach's _tardiness, everybody's feeling as if something very major is happening."

"A few of them are even having nightmares," Commissar Octavius added, his expression as grim as always. "Even my execution of the most cowardly is only so effective."

With a nod, Varnak was about to respond when the intercom squawked, interrupting him. _"Magos Varnak, please come to the communications room immediately!"_ the vox operator's voice was strained with worry. _"The Emperor's Reach is voxing on the emergency frequency."_

His cardio pump increasing slightly in speed, Varnak turned around, facing the double doors. He then glanced over his shoulder. "I want every guardsman, woman, and sanctioned psyker ready for battle," he ordered the colonel. "Raise the Alert Level to 3."

As the two officers sprang into action, the magos and his retinue rushed to the communications room, pushing pass guardsmen who were running to their posts as the alarms blared. Arriving to the communications room five minutes later, Varnak walked over to the vox operator, who turned and saluted him. "What seems to be the problem?" Varnak asked her.

"Magos, you've got to hear this," Turning a few dials, the operator spoke into the mic. "Emperor's Reach, come in. This is Vox Operator Twenty-five-two-two-eight-Primaris. Report your status."

At first, the vox were garbled. With his enhanced hearing, Varnak could make out the sputtering of sparks, as well as moaning. Finally, someone responded, the vox making whirring noises as the person on the other end attempted to find a clearer frequency. What the man said next chilled even Varnak's artificial blood.

"_-We... we were under attack by a huge fleet of... xenos ships of a heinous design we'd never encountered before.-"_ the man spoke, his breathing ragged. Varnak deducted that he was mortally wounded and will not last long. _"-We wer... we were investigating a Dead World when we... encountered this fleet. They start launching these... these pulsating things at the ship. We have sus... sustained heavy damage but that... that wasn't the end of it. Horrible, six-limbed xenos started... coming out of the living masses and had tunneled into the ship. Many of the crew was... were killed by the monstrosities and I myself am fatally wounded. We... we barely repel the monsters and escaped the fleet. However, there are still more of these monsters aboard the ship and me and the surviving crew are trying to keep them from breaking into the bridge.-"_

If he still had eyes, Varnak would've narrowed them in consternation and building fury. Grabbing the mic from the vox operator, Varnak asked, "Magos Varnak to Emperor's Reach, do you have any idea on whether this is some sort of ally of the Tau? Repeat, do these monsters show any signs of being allied with the grey-skins?" As Tyran Primus was located on the Eastern Fringe, the planet faced the threat of invasion from the slowly expanding sphere of the Tau Empire.

A moment passed before the man responded. _"-Negative, magos. As much as I hate the grey skins, I don't think that these monsters are allied with them. Usually, the Tau would ask you to embrace their infernal Greater Good instead of attacking unprovoked.-"_

"Where is this fleet heading?"

At first, the man fell silent for such a long time that Varnak thought he'd died. Finally, he responded, his voice carrying an ominous tone. _"-They're heading toward Tyran Primus.-"_

Clenching the mic so hard that the device began to bend, the machine spirit inside squealing in pain, Varnak finally responded, "Maintain your course to this planet and activate your locator beacon. I will dispatch several recovery vessels to aid you."

The man gave a soft, dying chuckle. _"-I would appreciate that, magos- augh, they'd finally broken into the bridge! To arms, men!-"_

Varnak's cardio pump nearly ceased functioning as the sounds of lasfire and bolter fire erupted out of the vox, painfully straining its machine spirits. "Emperor's Reach, report back in!"

_"-By the Emperor, there's too many of them! They're... no, no NO! Get away from me! Ow, argh, AUUUUGHAHAHAHA!-"_

The sounds of blades repeatedly stabbing into the screaming man's flesh flooded the room. Behind Varnak, the Skitarii stiffened, going into Combat Mode. Though the servitors remained expressionless, the vox operator's face pale, her hand covering her mouth as if holding back the urge to vomit. However, what chilled Varnak the most was the feral growls of hundreds of creatures that filled the room before the vox finally fell silent. They reminded him of rain falling onto a drum. As a Magos Explorator, Varnak has at times come across many strange and wondrous things, many of which would be considered foul and heretical by the Ecclesiarchy simply because they were different. However, nothing could have prepared him for the nature of the fleet now bearing down on the planet.

Turning off the vox, Varnak took several deep breaths, pushing down fear that was welling up inside of him. Shaking his head, the tiny pistons hissing in protest, he then turned to the vox operator, who was trying to settle her nerves.

"Alert the fortress and raise the Alert Level to 5," he finally said, his fear replaced by righteous fury. "Tell everyone to gear up and man the guns. We'll have a battle to fight in the next few days and, by the Omnissiah, we will win or die trying."

'''''''''''''''''''''

**The courtyards of the Cathedral-Palace of the Celestriachy**

**The Methuselon capital planet of Hynairis, Andromeda Galaxy**

**Around the same time…**

The massive courtyard held around four large armies of the Methuselon's finest soldiers, who stood in such neat and disciplined rows and columns that an Ethereal would've shed tears at the sight. Like the rest of the Methuselon race, their embellishments, which pretty much made up their uniforms along with their armor, resembled the style wore by ancient humans in the earlier eras of the Imperium's Age of Progress, a mostly forgotten time frame known as the Renaissance-Enlightenment Period. Behind the main bodies of the robotic infantry, several battalions of the autonomous Psyon Ring Tanks, Principali Combat Walkers and the highly maneuverable, aerial Virontek drones, just to name a few, waited for further commands.

In front of the four armies was none other than Celestriach Arknuman. Essentially the Methuselon variant of the Imperial Ecclesiarch, the high priest of the Celestriarchy was flanked by four Hierophants, who were Methuselon cardinals. Clothed in the flowing white and blue ceremonial robe and mitre cap of his office, Arknuman raised his sleek, robotic arms in supplication, his left hand holding an ornate staff, as the equally clothed Hierophants underneath his station do the same. Immediately, the Methuselon infantry kneeled, their heads bowed. His synthetic eyes scanning his mechanical flock, Arknuman closed them and spoke. The nearby psytransmitters carried over his words to the minds of every Methuselon on the courtyard in the same way a vox speaker would.

"We, the Methuselon, gather here today to ask Cassiopeia, Mother of our race and Queen of the universe, for the blessings of victory and protection from horrors our enemies have in store for us. From galaxy to galaxy, Her will shall be done and, from star system to star system, every race should know of Her infinite name. As Her cornucopia, we shall stow blessings upon those who would accept Her indoctrination, and, as Her sword, we shall smite down those who would blasphemy Her unending name or impede our evangelism. With Her on our side, we shall fear _nothing_! Now, let us pray."

Closing his eyes, Arknuman began to pray:

_***"Cassiopeia, Queen of the endless universe and Mother of everything within, we beseech you to cover us with your cape of protection, shielding our very souls from the predations of the Mephistorum (Chaos), as well as the fury of physical enemies. We also beg for clarity, as we don't fully know of what enemies we will face after our march back to the Milky Way, even with the probes of our stargazers. Moreover, we ask that you guide us into better understanding the numerous standards of living, cultures and religions of the civilizations we will encounter there, that we may know how best to bring them into your fold. Guide the minds of our talented leaders and strengthen the resolve of our brave warriors so that ultimate victory will be assured. As surely as we exist..."***_

"May your will be done!" the four Methuselon armies completed as one.

Letting his hand down to his sides, Arknuman opened his eyes, a smile stretched across his psychomeld face, the ivory psycho-reactive material shining in the sun. Like Arknuman himself, the Methuselon's sleek robotic bodies are made of the mentally pliable material. Similar to Eldar wraithbone, psychomeld is very durable but provides more protection in battle. The faceplate in particular, which is constructed from a more robust form of psychomeld, not only looks very lifelike but can be consciously shaped to convey emotions. Similarly, a variant of psychomeld known as psylia is often implanted as lifelike hair on the scalps, as well as on the faces of the now machine Methuselon as eyebrows and lashes. They are capable of shifting in color, length, and style with but a thought.

"May the blessings of Cassiopeia be upon you, Her faithful," he finally said, giving benediction. "Go forth and spread the Celestial Creed throughout the Milky Way Galaxy, in the Celestial Mother's name!"

The Methuselon armies erupted into cheers and shouting, pumping their robotic fists into the air. As their voices echoed throughout the holy city of Tyraxes, the site of the Methuselon's first encounter with and victory over the daemons of Chaos millennia ago, a powerful psychic presence permeated the courtyard. Though a highly psychic race such as the Methuselon should be worried about such a high concentration of the energy in one place, Arknuman and his Hierophants weren't so. Besides, as the presence washed over them, the smiles of the members of the Celestriachy deepened as they sensed the familiar feminine gestalt that often accompanied the occurrence. The very thoughts that formed inside Arknuman's head pretty much summed it up: _"She is with us."_

''''''''''''''

**Debriefing room inside Militarum Fortress Epsilon**

**Two Terran miles from the Cathedral-Palace**

**One hour later…**

Inside the rather large auditorium of Tyraxes' central military command center, five important Methuselon representatives of various departments were on the stage, standing in front of a huge viewscreen. The first officer, a burly Methuselon who are wearing a type of armor that gave him the appearance of a Gothic knight, is known inside the Celestial Parliament as Praetorian Fyr'don. Essentially a Methuselon autarch, Fyr'don is the commander-in-chief of the four armies to be deployed to the Milky Way.

Next to Fyr'don is a smaller Methuselon cloaked in a silver ghastcloth robe. As the female head of the Sicarion Intelligence College, Scrymaster Isca'beta is responsible for training and dispatching agents into enemy territories to infiltrate and to gather information, sabotage production, and even assassinate valuable targets. She is also in charge of the various probes and spy drones the Methuselon military will use for the duration of the conflict. A detachment of elite soldiers who are embedded inside each army, the fearsome Ai'psyte snipers, have all been trained at the prestigious university.

The third Methuselon was clothed in religious vestments and held the staff befitting her station as a Hierophant. Mord'caia's job is to manage the various religious clergy members under her authority as they spread the teachings and influence of the Celestial Creed throughout the Milky Way Galaxy. Her job also entails cleansing the galaxy of the filth and corruption of the Mephistorum through the use of the Expurgon. Trained in the art of combating the daemons of the Warp, as well detecting and cleansing corruption in the material universe, these Methuselon inquisitors would prove invaluable to the rest of their race when fighting the legions of Chaos.

The next one was a bald Methuselon who wore a lab robe and a brown handlebar, psylia mustache. As a professor of the Alpha Scholastrum, Doctro Yen'mori's job is to supervise any research done in the Milky Way, whether they entailed alien technologies or foreign flora and fauna. Whenever necessary, Yen'mori is to oversee the administration of any medical aid to any planet who swears allegiance to the Empire and to Cassiopeia.

The fifth and last Methuselon is a female named H'ratega, a representative of the famous Psynovica University, an institution where Methuselon learn how to strengthen, control, and visibly unleash their abilities. Unlike the normal Methuselon, who uses his abilities in subtle ways, such as making himself run faster or psychically toughening his body to better protect against blows, a graduate of the university are able to unleash the ethereal powers of the Warp upon their enemies, pretty much so like the psykers of various races. In some ways, the Psynovica University is much like its Imperial counterpart, the Scholastia Psykana, with the key difference that the University focuses much more on mental discipline and is less restrictive.

Facing the five Methuselon was a large audience consisting of the various colonels, captains, and sergeants who were to maintain cohesion within each army, making sure that every part worked together to achieve maximum efficiency. From the basic infantry to the heaviest vehicle, it was their job to wisely make use of these resources in whichever ways the situation demanded.

However, the stations and responsibilities of these Methuselon officers paled in comparison to the four Methuselon sitting in the front. Each of them being top graduates of the University and of noble lineage, these Strategon or Methuselon farseers, not only have the responsibility of commanding the armies they are assigned to but must psychically guide their charges through danger. Like their Eldar counterparts, they have the ability to peer through the skeins of the future, choosing the best course of action with the most minimal of losses. Last but not least, they are powerful psykers in their own right, only seconded by Fyr'don. Each Strategon, as well as the officers who answer to them, wore the predominant color of their army

Merykus, the Strategon of the blue-cladded Orminus Stellos and of House R'hauseh, wore the commander's psionclas cuirass-set his father once wore during the Methuselon-Turanek Wars, complete with the yellow epaulettes attached to the shoulders. The material, thought less flexible than psychomeld, is comparable to high-quality ceramite, albeit much lighter. In addition, he wore a variant of the bicorne, a military hat of human antiquity. His black psylia hair came down to the back his neck and a tuff of it hung over his right eye. His ultimo glaive stood erect at his side, balanced by only a thought.

Next to Merykus sat the beautiful and equally cunning Ioner'hes. The Strategon of the red-cladded Orminus Turbinon and of House O'wiverha, Ioner'hes wore a blood red war gown made of the same material as Merykas' uniform. Adorning her head of blonde, curly hair psylia is a large, red, disc-shaped psychomeld headdress that elevates her psychic prowess, as well as makes her appear more imposing. Her acoustron war mace lay across her legs.

Next to Ioner'hes was a smaller female Strategon named Kai'yeina. Like her army, the Orminus Occulari, Kai'yeina of House Yei'sharmra was cladded in yellow. Also wearing a war gown of a different design, Kai'yeina wore her auburn hair psylia in two buns, each tied with a black psychomeld ribbon. Her weapon of choice, a razor-edged psykonetic discus, whirled slowly in the air in front of her like a wheel-shaped satellite.

Last but not least, Strategon Ka'tarei of the green cladded Orminus Meteonra and of House B'haretta is a head shorter than Merykus and wore a hooded cloak that nearly shrouded his entire face in shadows. Underneath the cloak, Ka'tarei wore a psychomeld cuirass and a pair of dark green pantaloons. Black hair psylia with blue-green tips and highlights gave him an otherworldly appearance, even for a Methuselon. His pair of swiftstrike dagger-pistols remained in their holsters at his sides

Giving the audience a once over, Fyr'don nods to Isca'beta, who turns toward the viewscreen and pressed a button on a device she held in her robotic hand. Suddenly, the huge screen sprang to life, showing a planet as seen from space. Large deserts nearly covered the entire planet, particular along the equator. Only a few patches of green could be seen and even these were outlined with bands of browns. Whiffs of smoke were rising from a spot on the surface.

Folding his lithe arms behind his back, Fyr'don spoke, "As you all know or will know soon enough, we have launched handfuls of probes into the Milky Way only a few decades ago. Before that, with the exception of the super psychic beacon to lure the Famesa away from our systems, we haven't launched anything there in over ten thousand years since the fall of the Eldar and the start of the Methuselon-Turanek Wars four thousand years afterward. Obviously, much have changed since the day we saw the Eldar Empire fall, which is why you're now looking at the mostly dry planet on the screen. However, be aware that it's not the planet itself that caught my attention. Brace yourselves." As if on cue, Isca'beta worked the controls on the device, zooming in on the whiffs of smoke.

Suddenly, the sounds of battle filled the room, causing most of the officers in the audience to jump. In the recording, tracers and red shafts of light zipped back and forth as two forces fought it off on a charred, smoke filled battlefield. On one side, large groups of green-skinned monsters were shooting at the enemy with crude weapons while attempting to close in to engage in bloody melee. Ramshackle machines that would pass for vehicles raced across the battlefield, not caring whether they ran over friend or foe. The battle cries of the monsters were so high that they could even be heard over the gunfire.

On the other side; however, was an unknown alien species, In sharp contrast to the mass of green coming at them, they were organized and disciplined. Though small in stature compared to the hulking monsters, they made up for it by unleashing mass volleys of lasers from their seemly primitive weapons, as well as an assortment of other automatic guns. Many a green monster either went down with its face pockmarked with thousands of cauterized holes, scarred beyond recognition, or shredded by the intense crossfire. Fighting beside the alien soldiers were bipedal machines with cannons fastened onto their undercarriages. A powerful laser from one such machine of war scythed through three of the monsters' vehicles, turning them into broiling infernos that charbroiled the passengers inside, cooking them alive. Two more of the ramshackle machines were then torn apart by the well-placed shells of one of the aliens' tanks.

Ordering Isca'beta to pause the footage, Fyr'don then continued, motioning to the screen with a hand, "As you all know, unless you slept through biology, the greenskins are descendants of the warlike race known as the Krork. Created by the Old Ones during the War in Heaven to combat the Necrons, the Krork turned on their masters near the end of the conflict, being the bloodthirsty savages they are. Since they rather fight other races and even each other than to coexist peacefully together under the abiding teachings of the Celestial Creed, they have no place among Cassiopeia's flock and therefore must be ostracized and outright killed like the wolves they are if they stray too close."

"However, it's a different matter concerning the aliens fighting the Krork or Orks, as they are now called. Never had we encountered such a race been. Not only have our probes found them living on nearly every planet we'd discovered but the aliens themselves seem to venerate a person known as the 'God-Emperor'. Whether this 'God-Emperor is the ruler of their race or a deity himself, only a thorough analysis over a long period of time will uncover the extent of this 'God-Emperor's' influence. Any questions?"

Ioner'hes' hand shot into the air. With a nod from the praetorian, she asked, "Is it possible that these aliens could, in fact, be the Eldar degenerated to a primitive state? After all, they once had a massive empire."

Fyr'don smirked. "Admittedly, that was my very first conclusion when I first saw this recording. However, that was quickly shattered when I took a closer look. Observe."

Playing the recording, Isca'beta zoomed in on the alien army. Their primitive uniforms were a dark shade of green with glyphs that could be numbers painted on the shoulders and helmets. Shouting insults at the Orks, the aliens fired laser beams from slowly overheating guns.

_-"Die in the hundreds, you ugly, stinking bastards!"-_

_-"Rot in the Warp, sons of bitches!"-_

_-"The Emperor is with us, men! Let 'em have it!"-_

Though the aliens' bravery and defiance is noteworthy, Ioner'hes could tell that they weren't equipped to engage the melee-oriented Orks in close combat. In fact, she'd only spotted a few swords on some of the aliens' persons, the rest attached to the barrels of their weapons to be used as bayonets. Though they have the advantage of the massed volleys, as well as an infallible faith in this 'God-Emperor', it was a matter of time before the Orks closed in, swarming the weaker aliens with numbers and sheer brutality.

"Freeze right there," Fyr'don commanded. There, in the center of the recording, was a particular alien male, albeit older. Unlike the others around him, he wore a red peaked cap with gold embroidery. His elaborate uniform gave him the air of a commander, even without the golden cape. He held a saber in his left hand that seemed to crackle with energy. In his right hand; however, was a brutish weapon that looked as if it was constructed by the very monsters he was fighting. Boxy in appearance, the weapon resembled one of the horrible fist weapons the Turanek used against the Methuselon long ago, the razor-sharp claws capable of cleaving even the most heavily armored soldier in half. Boasting a square jaw, the man's face looked as if it had been through a thousand battles. As if to complete his stoic and intimidating visage, his left eye had been replaced with a red bionic eye that stared directly at the viewers, daring them to face him.

However, the strangest thing about him was that, unlike a typical Eldar, his ears were shorter and the pinnas were rounded instead of pointy.

"When I took one look at this alien's ears," Fyr'don continued. "I realized that perhaps the Eldar have fallen farther than we'd originating thought. In fact, I believe that these aliens could very well be the most dominate species in the Milky Way, which could create a lot of problems for us if they proved hostile. Just remember that it is foolish to underestimate these aliens; they could be holding back some dangerous technologies or worse, some elite soldiers. Our race has foolishly underestimated the Turanek when the wars began; we must not make that mistake again."

Nodding Ioner'hes took a mental note of this, just as Merykas and Kai'yeina were doing. However, Ka'tarei looked at the alien officer onscreen with an arrogant condescendence. _"How dangerous can a bunch of savages be?" _he thought. _"Even a Turanek child are much harder to kill than these puny aliens."_

Sensing whiffs of his arrogance, Ioner'hes gave Ka'tarei a mental shove, causing him to jump. _"Since when did you found out about how these aliens fight?"_ she asked him using very close-ranged telepathy. Ka'tarei could feel Ioner'hes smirking. _"Have you been making trips to the Milky Way without us knowing?"_

Shrugging, Ka'tarei responded back, _"Not as much as you've been 'borrowing' Merykus' psyche training manuscripts. Heh, you really think I'm stupid? I didn't tell him about it because I respect you -oops, too late!"_

Ioner'hes cringed visibly when a wave of disapproval came from the general direction of Merykas. Ever formal like his father, Merykas' telepathic message was brief but final: _"We'll talk later."_

Sighing mentally, Ioner'hes glared at Ka'tarei. _"You're such a loud mouth."_

Ka'tarei dared a smile, his eyes remaining on Fyr'don. _"You started it."_

"_Can you guys please cease the telepathic chit-chat?"_ a whiny voice cut into Ioner'hes and Ka'tarei's heads. It was Kai'yeina. _"I can barely pay attention to what Mord'caia is saying."_

"_Fine then,"_ Ioner'hes told her. Though Kai'yeina was like a little sister, Ioner'hes is often annoyed by the shorter Methuselon's immaturity as well as her tendency to take things less seriously. It's a wonder she'd even passed the imperial military test in order to become a Strategon at all. _"However, you need to learn how to block out all telepathic traffic, Kai'yeina. It is said that the Mephistorum communicates to its unwilling victims via their minds."_

"_I will try to if only you two would please shut it."_

"_Duly noted,"_ Yawning out of habit rather than reflex, it being a little over thirty years since the transfer of the Methuselon race's consciousnesses and souls into the robotic bodies they more or less enjoyed today, Ioner'hes turned her attention to Mord'caia, who was speaking, pointing at the vidscreen many times.

"If the aliens' 'God-Emperor' is actually the physical ruler of their empire, an actual person in fact," Mord'caia was saying. "We can convent him to our Celestial Creed. Once converted, the majority of his subjects will flock to the Creed, as well. Does anyone have any questions?

"What if this 'God-Emperor' is actually a god, a deity much like Cassiopeia?" one of Merykus' colonels asked. A handful of his peers murmured in disapproval.

Mord'caia pursed her lips in disapproval. "If the aliens does in fact worship this 'God-Emperor' and proved to be just as fanatical as we are, if not more so, then it will be a long and arduous road ahead of us. If that's the case, I advise that you leave their places of worship alone and allow them to continue worshipping their 'God-Emperor' until the time comes to do away with it all. Our priesthood, the Creedestrum, is trained in slowly weaning the newly converted away from their previous beliefs. They are very persuasive and thus cannot do their jobs without danger if the aliens' priests manage to rally them against us. We don't want to give them any more ammunition to use against us. The same goes for the Eldar and any other races we encounter. _Yes_, I really mean the Eldar, too. Don't give me that look: the Creed dictates that we must open our arms up to those who has the capacity and free will to accept it. Only the Orks, the servants of the Mephistorum, or any other predatory races doesn't deserve such grace. We want the Celestial Creed to be more attractive than whatever they would name their religion. Do you understand the importance of what I am saying?" The officers nodded and voiced their agreement.

"Excellent! Now Yen'mori will speak to you all."

Receiving a nod from the Hierophant, the Doctro touched a few panels on his electronic notepad before looking up to the audience. "As you all are aware, " he began. "Our race has always been curious about the universe around us, as well as the various races within. This has done great wonders for the evangelizing of our Celestial Creed, as that curiosity has enticed us to spread out into new systems and worlds. I may not have to tell you this but for the sake of memory, I'll do it. If you encounter any alien species other than the Eldar, the Orks, or these aliens on the screen, please forward the information to my department. Better yet, if you encounter any alien technologies of the likes our race has never seen and can be put to great use in both civilian or military areas, please send said pieces of technology to me. I would appreciate your help. Thank you."

As Yen'mori went back to his notes, H'ratega strode forward, her dark-blue and gold robes waving effortlessly in the air currents. Even to the other Methuselon, H'ratega seemed to command such a powerful psychic aura, as if she is able to destroy a sizable portion of the room with but a glance. Holding up a hand, H'ratega kept her eyes on the audience as several psychic motes materialized over her palm, eventually forming into the 3D image of the famous Phantasma Vox Engine. Several more of the towers were built on various planets in the Methuselon's three home systems. They were likewise very heavily defended.

"One fateful morning, while analyzing the probes' psionic scans, we at Psynovica University noticed a massive psychic presence about a few thousand life years due galactic west of the center of the Milky Way Galaxy, just south of the huge Warp Storm our historians believed to have brought about the end of the Eldar Empire. This presence is colossal enough to dwarf even the super psychic beacon we launched approximately thirty years ago. At the moment, we do not know of the true nature of this presence or what's creating it. However, it will have to make do as a reference point for our star-going vessels' psychognitors until your forces can settle onto any planet you encounter and build our own navigation engines. Soon enough, the nature of this presence will be known to us. More importantly; however, as you all will be out of range of the closest Phantasma Vox Engine in this galaxy, you each must build the smaller Phantasma Drives, which function similarly to the vox engines and can easily be deconstructed and relocated if necessary. These are your most important assets so I don't have to tell you how well to guard them. Remember that each of these drives have a phase retrieval radius of three thousand and sixty light-years so build additional drives according."

Clenching her hand, causing the image to disappear, H'ratega continued. "In addition, you each will be provided with a battalion of Cerebromancers. These powerful psykers are skilled in various areas, from long-range telepathic communications to aiding the Expurgon in their interrogations. They are even capable of wreaking untold havoc upon the enemies of the Celestial Creed. They are dangerous in their own right, seconded only by the excellent Strategon we have here today." Nodding to the four aforementioned Methuselon, who smiled back, H'ratega continued. "However, they are less mentally disciplined and thus would become prime targets for the forces of the Mephistorum or any other malignant foes. Guard them well. However, if they should become possessed, the Expurgon know what to do…" H'ratega tone became ominous, leaving the audience to imagine the horrific fate of such an unfortunate Methuselon.

"Good," H'ratega concluded, glancing at Fyr'don. As the Psynovica representative went back to her place, the praetorian asked, "Does anyone else have any questions?"

Merykus stood up, his glance directed at Mord'caia. "Your Eminence, " he began to ask. "What if the other races decide to peacefully refuse the Celestial Creed?"

"The Creed dictates that we let them be, as they may simply not yet be ready to accept it," Mord'caia answered calmly. "However, once they see the blessings of their neighbors who accepted the Creed versus their own misfortunes , there can be no question about whether they made the right choice or not."

Merykus decided to press the issue further. "What if they proved to be more loyal to their misguided indoctrinations? What if they turn out to be seditious agents working for the good of their native regime and to the detriment of our own?"

A smirk played over Mord'caia's psychomeld face, bearing a sinister overtone that only the most perspective viewer could pick apart. "In that case," she finally said. "No one who plots against the benevolence of the Celestial Creed shall live to see the next dawn, neither can they hide from the blade that searches even the darkest of shadows." Satisfied, Merykus sat down just as Fyr'don spoke again.

"Just as Strategon Merykus has implied, even if not his initial intention," he was saying. "Sometimes the enemy doesn't come at you frothing like a mad beast. A particularly cunning enemy will seek to destroy you from the inside. Sometimes, brute force cannot save you, neither will it always prove to be useful. Be likewise cunning and be ever vigilant. Any questions?"

When no one responded, Fyr'don continued, "At the conclusion of this meeting, I want you to go and to meet the soldiers who will be fighting under your command. Also, our three most powerful alien allies have sent their best warriors hours ago so I want you to meet them as well. We'll leave in twelve hours so that'll give you plenty of time to meditate, bid your families farewell, or do whatever you please. You are dismissed."

''''''''''''''''''''

"My apologies for borrowing your books without your permission, Strategon-Brother."

Ioner'hes and Merykus stood alone in one of the myriad hallways of the huge command center. Having left the flood of Methuselon bodies departing the cavernous room, the two have chosen one of the lesser hallways, a hallway that leads to a seldom used break room.

Sighing lightly, Merykus' onyx eyes looked into Ioner'hes' blue eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he spoke, "Apology accepted, Strategon-Sister. However, please refrain from such an act in the future. My father was very upset when he found out that I didn't have the manuscripts,"

"I apologize once more for the trouble I'd caused you," Ioner'hes responded, hanging her head slightly.

After a moment, Merykus broke the silence. "So, um…, did you enjoyed reading the manuscripts?"

Looking up, Ioner'hes gave a small smile. "Of course I have, Strategon-Brother. In fact, I particularly enjoyed the litanies of self control and patience. Saintress D'hartellos is truly Cassiopeia's Chosen One. If it wasn't for her, the Celestial Creed wouldn't have existed."

"And our race would've been extinct long ago, Strategon-Sister" Merykus finished. After the loss of the nine universopolises during the space battle with the Eldar millions of years ago, the then-Novica had entered into a state of turmoil not too dissimilar to the Imperium's Age of Strife. Only after millennia of interracial bloodshed and ambitions did a largely unknown Novica named D'hartellos rose out of obscurity and united the splintering race under the binding indoctrination of the Celestial Creed, saving the race from destroying itself. However, it is a story for another time.

Nodding, Ioner'hes stepped closer to Merykus and lightly caressed his smooth psychomeld face. Despite no longer possessing the ability to feel pleasure, Merykus compensated in one way the Methuselon could currently do: by visualizing how the touch would've felt, the basic ability of memory tactility making it feel so real.

"Since we will most likely be separated at departure and during the initial phases of expansion," Ioner'hes was saying. "Let's spend a few hours sparring in the mindscape. As D'hartellos once said: 'Just as a blade is kept sharp through constant care, so are wits kept through constant use."

It was Merykus' turn to smirk. "Good," he finally said. "I was just getting bored, anyway. Let's go find a room to enter the mindscape."

Ioner'hes eyed the break room down the hallway. Being renovated into a storage room, its initial furniture were being replaced with psychomeld crates. However, for the most part, the room was empty. "Great," she finally answered, grinning. "I know just the place."

''''''''''''''''''''''''

**Tyran Primus, two days later…**

When the xenos arrived, the planetary lasers fired for the first time since their construction. Bioship after bioship fell out of orbit and into the seas as the very sky flashed in various colors like a freakish thunderstorm. After a few hours of sustaining casualties, the xeno fleet suddenly withdrew, fooling the garrison into thinking that the enemy has retreated. Thus a fleet of Imperial cruisers was ordered to lift off and to give chase, their crews very eager to hunt down the hatred xenos. Unfortunately, it proved to be a trap and the xenos punished them for their arrogance by picking them off in rapid succession. Fortunately for the defenders below, the Imperial cruiser _Sword of Warriors _managed to send an emergency vox, warning them of their mistake in chasing the xeno fleet, before being boarded by the xenos, the crew butchered in minutes. However, that was only the beginning.

Within the first few hours after the fleet's annihilation, thousands of strange objects fell out of the skies. When the objects fell into the deadly seas, the ever-waiting sea monsters found a more exotic feast drifting toward the seabed and begin engorging themselves on the extraterrestrial masses of living tissue. Unfortunately for them, they were ignorant of the dangers lurking inside. The monsters that foolishly swallowed the masses whole were literally eaten up from the inside out, the ravenous horrors inside gobbling up chunks of the flesh surrounding them. In a matter of minutes, the seas boiled and became red with blood as the natural predators became prey to the galactic locusts now swarming the planet.

High on the walls of the fortress, the guardsmen cheered, believing the threat above to be no match to the inhabitants of the seas. The fortress' defenses continued to rain all matter of firepower onto the hated alien invasion force. The four defense planetary lasers had even managed to knock the thirteenth xeno bioship out of low orbit, causing it to crash into the stormy seas in a spectacular splash that caused more cheering among the guardsmen's ranks. Nevertheless, the cold glare and bolt-pistol of Commissar Octavius ensured that no one were lax, as Magos Varnak and Colonel Augusta would not count on the sea monsters to stop the xeno invaders for them. They are the Imperial Guard and they must be ready for anything; to shame the Emperor (or Omnissiah, depending on one's religious affiliation) with complacency is heresy.

However, the air inside the astropaths' communication chamber in the bowels of the fortress were gloomy and depressing. The wretched astropaths wailed in terror, anguish, and frustration as they attempted to break through the strange psychic barrier that were blocking off all communications and pleas for aid . Through the use of some devious weapon, the xenos have rendered them unable to call the nearest Imperial-held planets for aid and the planet was then cut off from the rest of the Imperium, doomed to suffer its horrid fate alone. To make matters worse, any astropath who pressed too hard against the barrier found himself convulsing on the floor, bleeding profusely out of every orifice on his head. The most chilling revelation of the barrier's identity was that, according to the chief astropath, it was as if a great shadow has formed in the Warp and was slowly blanketing the planet, plunging it into darkness.

Watching a pair of servitors cart away yet another dead astropath, Varnak sighed heavily through his vox grille and continued walking down the hallways, making sure that the circuit lines leading to the great planetary lasers and other defenses were still intact. Passing combat servitors and Skitarii alike, with the occasional Guardsman, Varnak muttered a silent prayer to the Omnissiah to keep the defenses running smoothly and for the soldiers' weaponry to never falter. It is going to be a long night.

Rounding a corner, Varnak suddenly stopped, sending out a neural command to his four Skitarii bodyguard to do the same. Gripping his axe staff tightly, Varnak tuned his auditory sensors to Local sensory. Cutting off all but the nearest of sounds. Was it his imagination or was there something breathing nearby?

A whiff of air hit the magos' heavily augmented face, carrying with it a familiar coppery scent. Switching his nasal sensors to Fine Particle Mode, Varnak winced visibly when the scent hit him in full force. In his earlier years, Magos Varnak had seen his share of combat and the smell of blood was all too familiar. However, there was also another scent, a scent that was repulsive and foreign. It was definitely an alien scent.

As in on cue, a savage alien howl nearby overloaded Varnak's auditory sensors, forcing him to switch back to Broad. In an instant, a flash of dark green launched itself at the closest Skitarii, its four upper limbs wrapping around the cybernetic soldier. Despite being a serious opponent to even a Space Marine initiate, the Skitarii were ripped in several large pieces before its enhanced brain could even register the attack, blood and motor oil spraying everywhere. In one synchronized move, the three surviving Skitarii raised their prosthetic weapons at the abomination and opened fire. Moving too fast, the monster merely dodged the bolter rounds as it charged at the magos. However, Varnak was ready and, when the beast got close enough, he quickly ducked under its four claws and stabbed two mechadendrites tipped with drills into its eyes, effectively blinding it and stopping it in its tracks. Knocking the larger opponent away with a punch in the face, Varnak swinged his axe even as the Skitarii were pumping the monster with bolter rounds, the small self-propelled explosives bursting within its body and wreaking an untold amount of internal damage. In the instant his axe separated the xeno's bulbous head from its neck, Varnak could swore that the creature's eyes were fully healed and were staring into his own with an insatiable hunger.

Kicking away the alien's head, Varnak was about to order the two servitors at the rear of his retinue to pick up what was left of the Skitarii when he heard the all too familiar sounds of growling and screeching down the darkened hallway. There was no doubt that they were the same animal growls he'd heard in the com room before the transmission link to the _Emperor's Reach _went silent. As if that wasn't bad enough, hundreds of yellow eyes poked out of the shadows down the hallway and were closing in fast. Somehow, he knew that standing there was suicide.

"Fall back! Fall back!" his vox speaker growled like an agitated mechanical beast as he turned and broke into a run. The rest of his retinue quickly followed after him, the two Skitarii at the rear laying down covering fire without even a change in pace. Dozens of smaller, six-limbed xenos were cut down by the devastating gunfire, their blood and innards painting the walls a dark crimson. However, the most unnerving thing was that the surviving creatures were unfazed by the violent deaths of their brethren; a few have even gobbled up pieces of their own brood as they ran full tilt at the larger prey ahead.

For what seemed like eternity, Varnak ran, warning anyone he encountered of the creatures chasing him. Though they heeded his warnings and joined his race to a better defensive position, a few of them fell behind and died screaming to the talons and sharp teeth of the horde chasing them. Finally, after a few more agonizing minutes, the magos and his now enlarged retinue passed through two heavy adamantium doors. Stopping so suddenly that a few guardsmen nearly ran into him, Varnak whirled around and focused on the door control unit nearby. Tuning the vox caster implanted into his cerebrum to the unit's frequency, Varnak finally got access to the machine spirits inside and begin inputting commands to shut the doors. All around him, the Skitarii begin opening fire on the xeno horde to slow them down. Realizing what the magos was up to, the guardsmen joined in, their lasfire mingling with the bolter fire. However, the hungry xenos kept coming, rushing toward the roomful of prey with utter disregard for their own safety.

When they got within range, the six-limbed monsters leaped toward their selected targets, the xeno in the lead passing halfway through the doorway, its ugly features and razor-sharp teeth illuminated by the lamps overhead.

It was at that precise moment that Varnak finally got the doors to close. Letting out a frustrated snarl, the monster was severed in half by the heavy doors as its brethren banged against them, a mere second too late. Specks of alien blood landed on the faces of the nearest Skitarii and guardsmen. However, the bisected monster was still alive, albeit barely, scampering wildly on the floor in an attempt to stab or bite anyone who has the misfortune to be close by. Wordlessly, Varnak stomped on the creature's head with a heavy metal boot, spraying its brains and blood everywhere.

Varnak looked up, glaring at the creatures banging against the adamantium door in a desperate attempt to get inside. He then turned to face his retinue. Though the Skitarii and servitors remained expressionless, the latter being designed for non-combat roles, the guardsmen were visibly shaken up. Though most of these men had fought against the Orks, the Eldar, the Tau, and even the servants of Chaos earlier in their careers, nothing could ever prepare them to face a terrifying enemy that literally consumed anyone who got in its way. In fact, Varnak wouldn't be surprised if they feared getting eaten alive more than being executed by Commissar Octavius.

Regardless, though, they must push the xenos back at all costs.

"Come men, we must fall back to a better position," he told them, nearly scaring the wits out of them with his deep, synthetic voice. "I doubt that even these doors would hold out very long against whatever other weapons these foul xenos may possess. Let's move!"

At the crack of his thunderous voice, the guardsmen leaped into action, running toward the bowels of the fortress. Starting after them, Varnak paused when the automatic intercom blared out an announcement. From the day he'd first installed the warning broadcaster, he dreaded the day it would activate. Unfortunately, today was the day:

**-"PLANETARY DEFENSE LASERS EREBUS AND VAUL ARE NOW OFFLINE. WEST, EAST, AND SOUTH AUXILARY GENERATOR GROUPS UNDER ATTACK. SEVERE DAMAGE SUSTAINED AND RISING. IMMEDIATE ATTENTION REQUESTED."-**

"_How can this happen?" _He thought, clearly unnerved. _"__How can such disorganized creatures launch such a coordinated attack and how in the Omnissiah's name do they know to take out such vital assets as the generators and PDL's?"_

**-"PLANETARY DEFENSE LASER ANTONIUS IS NOW OFFLINE. PLANETARY DEFENSE LASER COPERNICUS IS SUSTAINING MODERATE TO HEAVY DAMAGE. NORTHERN AUXILARY GENERATOR GROUP IS NOW UNDER ATTACK."-**

Growling in frustration, Varnak ran to catch up with the guardsmen, his cybernetic servants trailing his steps. Never in his life have he encountered such a malevolent force. He'd never thought that his force would be forced to fight this fearsome enemy alone, trapped on the very edge of Imperial space as they were, wide open to whatever unknown horrors that lurked the distant void. Finally, Varnak solemnly concluded that this could very well be his last day alive, unfortunately far away from Blessed Mars for his brothers and sisters in the Adeptus Mechanicus to even notice his demise.

'''''''''''''''''

On the walls of the fortress above, the situation was dire indeed. Not only have the invaders won their underwater fight with the sea monsters but they were crawling up the ferrocrete walls like ants swarming a dying beast. To make matters worse, huge winged monsters that resembled the dragons of ancient Terran lore descended on the fortress, unleashing the smaller but numerous bat-like xenos that scythed or skewered any guardsmen they swoop pass, eating any soldier caught in their talons in midair.

Many of these flying monstrosities were cut down by the valiant crews of the anti-aircraft emplacements, only to be replaced by even more creatures before counterattacking with a vengeance. A few of the emplacements were overrun, their hapless occupants tore apart by the ravenous swarms.

To make thing even worse, most of the living masses falling out of the sky were directed onto the fortress itself. Smashing onto the walls like living drop pods, crushing any unlucky guardsmen in the process, the masses opened up, belching out new horrors. Any guardsmen who were unlucky enough to be knocked onto their seats by the masses' landing were swarmed before they could even get up, their screams barely heard above the hisses and growls of the xenos.

Cutting a swath through a group of xenos with his power sword, Commissar Octavius sprayed another group with his bolt-pistol, red puffs of blood spraying out as each shot tore through their chitinous bodies . Two of the accursed beasts leaped at him, squealing in ravenous hunger. Vertically bisecting one of them, Octavius barely raised his bolt-pistol up in time to fire a shot at point blank into the other xeno's mouth, creating a second 'eating hole' at the back of its throat. A gory spray of dark crimson blood covered the corpses of its brethren behind it.

Cutting down another xeno, something at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning around, he glowered at the sight of two guardsmen making a run for the roof entrance, no doubt heading toward where the Valkyries were parked. Without a growl, Octavius expertly aimed his bolt-pistol at the closest of the pair, giving the thick trigger a squeeze as he recalled the very phrase he was taught at the Schola Progenium and the one he'd revolved his career around as a Commissar.

_Suffer not the coward to live._

Milliseconds after the loud report of the weapon, the targeted guardsman fell forward as the round tore his spinal cord cleanly in half, exiting out of his throat. He fell onto his face, sliding to a complete stop on the dusty roof.

The other guardsman; however, were out of range and Octavius was about to curse loudly when a xeno drop pod landed in front of the guardsman, stopping him in his tracks. Suddenly, the thing busted open and a trio of tall xenos walked onto the roof. About two times the height of an average man, each xeno possessed a head that broaden out into a flat crest toward the back. In addition to the upper limbs that are modified into the scything talons commonly used by the numerous melee-oriented xenos, the right arm in the middle pair of limbs is modified into a short barreled, carbine-shaped biomorph, with a long fleshy hose running from the base of the weapon to a fleshy sac on the other arm. However, what irked Octavius was that the larger creatures seemed to possess a sort of cunning intelligence.

The cowardly guardsman screamed when one of the large xenos leaped at him, skewering his onto its talons. He waved his arms and legs wildly when the monster raised him toward its opened mouth.

"Commissar sir, save me!" he squealed, rasping in pain and terror.

"No cowards tomorrow!" was his gruff reply. "They die today!"

"_Gwuah_! Nooo, don't let me die! No- ack! AUUUUUGH-" The monster bit off the guardsman's head in a sickening crunch, cutting his shrill scream short.

Calling a group of guardsmen to him, some of them armed with heavy weapons, he spoke grimly, his eyes on the monster as it chewed on the guardsman's head, crunching on the man's skull and ceramite helmet as if they were eggshells, "Let this be a lesson for you all: there is nowhere to run so you might as well stand your ground. If I don't execute you for cowardice in the line of duty, these foul xenos will! Now, let's make the Emperor proud by taking as many of these Emperor-forsaken bastards with us as we can!"

The guardsmen nodded solemnly, already preparing for the worst. For them, this was it: the final stand. They are the Hammer of the Emperor and a hammer will _not_ fall so easily to these bugs.

"TAKE THE FIGHT TO THESE UGLY XENOS, IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME!" he roared, raising his power sword at the three monsters in defiance, who snarled in reply. "CHARGE!"

With a roar, the now inspired guardsmen opened fire on the xeno who's just killed their comrade. Though the lasfire barely penetrated its chitinous hide, the heavy rounds fired from the heavy bolter teams not only tore apart the headless corpse the monster was holding but have even managed to take off one of its arms: the arm holding the carbine biomorph. Surprised briefly by the loss of such a vital limb, the monster gave a loud screech of rage and charged the guardsmen, its two brethren joining it.

"Aim for their legs, men!" Octavius ordered the heavy weapons teams via tight beam. "Trip the fuckers!"

As the large xenos neared the guardsmen, the heavy weapons teams tried to fire as accurately as they could at the monsters' lower limbs, the heavy bolters' recoils being a great challenge to accuracy. Having bitten through the fleshy hose dragging the useless limb behind, thus jettisoning it, the monster ran faster, a new limb already growing from the stump. Unfortunately for the xeno, it was unprepared for the sudden shift in gunfire. Suddenly, dozens of bullets tore off sizable chunk of its legs. No longer having control of its legs, the large xeno fell onto its face as lasfire and bolters rounds raked across its back, causing considerable damage. A few more rounds iced the xeno for good.

However, the other two xenos finally got into range and opened fire with their carbines. Several balls of living matter arced toward the guardsmen, trailing clouds of spores. Glancing up at the balls, Octavius knew that whatever that was inside those objects bode ill for him and his soldiers.

"Spread out, now!" he yelled, firing a few shots at the xenos before jumping into cover behind a crumpling section of a sandbag barrier. As the guardsmen scrambled for cover, the balls struck the ground in their midst. What happened next was beyond anything Octavius had ever experienced.

Long, slithering, thorny vines shot out of the broken pieces of the masses. Many guardsmen screamed when they got tangled up within the vines. A few even attempted to shoot at the vines with their lasguns or cut them down with the attached bayonets, only for sections to regrow themselves, stronger than the last. As their quarry struggled within their confines, the vines themselves hissed, pulsing as if their were a living net.

No, Octavius believed, they _are_ living creatures.

A loud screech from one of the large xenos turned Octavius' attention toward them, his eyes narrowing at what he saw. Swarms of the smaller xenos crawled down the ramp leading to the landing pads behind the two monsters. However, unlike their talon-wielding brethren that were slowly surrounding the guardsmen, these xenos were carrying range weapons similar to the carbines carried by the monsters towering above them. One of the new xenos' weapons bulged in various places as if something inside was waiting to be fired out of the living gun.

Before he could warned the remaining unimpeded soldiers, the xenos opened fire. The heavy black objects slammed into several guardsmen with the force of solid slugs. Those who weren't fortunate enough to be killed instantly writhed on the ground, screaming in great agony. Irregular spurts of blood gushing out of every wound received hinted that something was tunneling through the men's bodies, eating them up from the inside.

Octavius ducked just as one of the new xenos shot at him. Something slammed against his cover, flipping over the barrier before landing next to him. Octavius' face contorted into an expression of disgust as the object unfurled into the largest beetle he'd ever seen. About the size of a bolter round, the beetle was as shiny and as black as obsidian and boasted a nasty array of mandibles designed for tunneling through flesh at a blinding speed. When the creature saw him, it gave a loud screech before scurrying toward him.

Octavius quickly ended its hunger with the butt of his bolt-pistol, grinding it into a paste on the ferrocrete.

All around him, the swarms of xenos were rapidly closing in, seemly led on by the larger monsters. The guardsmen trapped in the vines screamed loudly when the closest of the xenos attacked them mercilessly like seagulls setting upon trapped fish. Despite his steel resolve, Octavius knew that the battle was lost.

Something landed next to Octavius, who whirled to cut down the threat, barely able to stop the attack at the last instant when he got a better look at the object. It was a missile launcher with the unfortunate crewman's severed arm still gripping the handle. Removing the limb, Octavius checked the heavy weapon, discovering that there was a single rocket loaded.

An alien bellowed loudly from the direction of the two special xenos. Gritting his teeth, Octavius hoisted the weapon onto his shoulder, primed the weapon, and cautiously peeked over the barrier. Joining the two xenos was the largest monster he'd ever seen in his life. Boasting four scything talons that were longer than even the two xenos, its carapace was more pronounced, having chimney-like growths running down its back in pairs, and its feet were shaped into huge hooves. Its huge head held up a prominent horn that reminded him of Terran rhinoceros. Most of the smaller xenos ran onto the roof as the monster gave a loud screech that shattered nearby windows.

Realizing that this beast could possibly be the leader and knowing that he doesn't have enough time remaining, Octavius raised the missile launcher and activated the targeting laser. Streaking through the darkening evening like a lance of red light, the laser marked out a spot on the creature's head. It was at that moment when the huge monster turned toward him, its eyes locked with his own. Octavius could easily tell that they were brimming with an unnatural intelligence… and an overwhelming hunger.

"Feast on this, you ugly son of a bitch," Octavius growled, pulling the trigger.

Lighting up the surrounding area, the rocket zoomed across the crawling expanse toward the xeno like a wrathful angel. For some strange reason, however, the xeno neither made a move to dodge the projectile nor did it even prepare a block. It just stood there, eyeing the rocket as if it was an insignificant thing.

Perhaps these xenos are stupid after all, Octavius concluded.

Unfortunately, just as the rocket was about to close the remaining meters, a flying xeno flew into the path of the explosive, sacrificing itself in an explosion of limbs, blood, and shrapnel to protect its master.

Dumbfound and stunned, Octavius dropped the missile launcher, which landed on the ground in a great thud. Never have he anticipated such an unexpected move. In fact, just as strange as the creature's intercept, the movements of the creatures did away with his beliefs that these were just mindless beasts. In fact, he concluded that these xenos could very well be of one mind, being controlled by the very beast who was looking at him, its eyes seeming to insult his failed attack.

Above everything; however, he was having a nagging impulse to turn around, which he did to his detriment.

Behind him was what one would describe as a huge xeno head attached to an atrophied body. The whole creature was above him, shaking violently. Its huge brain was lurching wildly as it gave off visibly wafts of green energy.

Realizing that this could be one of the xenos' psykers, Octavius aimed his bolt-pistol at its head, just as he'd done to countless human psykers in his long career. Unfortunately, it was at that instant that the creature unleashed its power.

Octavius never even had time to form obscenities on his tongue before he was blasted into nothingness.

''''''''''''''''''''''

**Inside a mindscape…**

Jumping high into the air, Ioner'hes yelled as she bought her acoustron mace down toward Merykus. The vibrating weapon, whose hyper-oscillations can overload the tiny generators in Power Armor after a few hits, were deflected by a psychic shield the other Methuselon created. With a leap into the air, Merykus allowed the force of the impact on the shield to push him a few meters back. He landed in the tall grass, his toes digging into the cool, refreshing soil.

Inside the mindscape, the two Methuselon weren't the machines they are in reality; they were their old flesh and blood selves. Ever since the civilization-wide transference that ended the Methuselon's Age of Flesh, more and more Methuselon are entering their mindscapes, both to sharpen their mental prowess and perhaps most important of all: to experience pleasure. Many agreed that had the Celestial Mother not blessed the Methuselon with such a gift, the entire race would've went mad decades ago.

Backflipping into the air to avoid a bash, Merykus stretched out his hand and concentrated briefly. Gasping, Ioner'hes ducked just in time to avoid a psionic beam. Suddenly, the tall grass curled around her ankles and were inching toward her waist, hardening into bronze as they grew. Attempting to wretch herself free, Ioner'hes looked up, glaring at a smirking Merykus.

"_*Humph!* _I expect Ka'tarei to be a cheater but _you_? I'm very disappointed."

Merykus only shrugged. "This is how I train inside my mindscape, Ioner'hes. One must always be prepared for every underhanded tactics the enemy will make and how to counteract them accordingly. Use that brain of yours, Strategon-Sister! Hehe, are you still a Juvenile?"

Pouting, Ioner'hes brought the mace down on the bronze grass, being very careful as not to break her own legs. Though every scar and injury received in the mindscape isn't carried over when one wakes up, it still hurted, even as long as a few weeks. The unstable concussion waves traveled throughout the material, disrupting the bonds between the tin and copper atoms. Soon, the whole thing fell apart crumbling into dust.

Shaking the dust off her bare feet, Ioner'hes shouldered her weapon and sighed. "I praise Cassiopeia everyday that you're actually making some sense in the things you do. You're easier to know, yet is a real challenge to figure out."

Without a word, Merykas walked up to Ioner'hes. Reaching up, he traced the triangle-shaped henna on the center of her forehead. Reaching up, Ioner'hes did the same, a finger trailing each of the two vertical lines running down his left eye.

"Have I told you that you reminded me of my mother?" he finally asked.

Ioner'hes cocked her head to the side. "Is it in a good way or a bad way?"

"Neither. It's in an…exceptional way. You has her intellect and her martial prowess. Most of all, you has the same love she has for the Celestial Creed."

Smiling, Ioner'hes wrapped her arms around Merykus' neck, pulling him closer to her. She was about to kiss him on the cheek when he politely stopped her, pressing a finger to her lips. "If my understanding of Fyr'don's invasion strategy is correct, then we stand a higher chance of becoming separated from each other for a very long time," he said, removing his fingers. "This could be our last time together so let's make this time really memorable."

Ioner'hes' eyes widened considerably. "You really mean it?"

"Of course, Ioner'hes," Their lips connected, Merykus and Ioner'hes spent the better part of the hour locked in a passionate kiss.

''''''''''''

Opening her eyes, Ioner'hes found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor across from Merykas. Both were back from Merykus' mindscape, their mind stirring as if from a deep sleep. Looking at her unfeeling robotic hands, Ioner'hes bit down on the cold sensation of reality, the cruel irony of having just woke up from an otherwise pleasant dream.

Merykus must be feeling it too because he has an expression of disappointment on his face for only a brief time before finally standing up. "Well", he finally said as Ioner'hes stood up. "It was an… enlightening spar we had today. Now, I must go check on my soldiers. Farewell and may Cassiopeia meld our paths together once more." Grasping Ioner'hes' hands in his, Merykus gave her a kiss on the lips before leaving, exiting the break room.

Reaching up, Ioner'hes traced the henna on her forehead, which was repainted on the surface hours after her original body had been buried. The traditional design flawlessly matched the original. Finally, she let her hand trail over one of her pointy ears before falling to her side. Straightening up, Ioner'hes allowed herself a moment to reminisce in the long kiss she'd enjoyed with Merykus in his mindscape before leaving the room.

'''''''''''''

**Barren outskirts of Tyraxes**

**One hour, twenty-one minutes, and 45 seconds later…**

Despite Tyraxes being a holy city, most of the city's outlying areas are still undeveloped due to the widespread distribution of the Methuselon to more fertile areas around the city during their Age of Flesh. Nowadays, in the amply named 'Age of Ascension', the Methuselon are no longer bound to necessities such as food and water and thus have been spreading to previously unwanted areas. Soon, this particular area will be populated with the beginnings of a new addition to Tyraxes.

However, it is currently used as a vast staging ground for four Ormini or armies, each containing millions of Methuselon souls, along with aliens who swore allegiance to the Creed and to the Mother of All.

Though it was customary for a Strategon to give a stirring speech to his/her army before doing anything else, Ioner'hes was anxious to see who her army consisted of. While the others were giving speeches to their respective armies, who were mere miles away, Ioner'hes sat cross-legged on the platform overseeing her soldiers and closed her eyes. Soon enough, the incorporeal projection of an eye appeared over her head, slowly rising into the air. After a moment of concentrating, her mind pulsed and her vision was violently shifted upward, merging with that of the eye. Known as the Seergazer's Eye, her psychic projection will allow her to travel over her soldier's heads, seeing everything with a clarity many Eldar farseers constantly seek to obtain.

Viewing her army which, like the others, was stretched as far as the eye can see, Ioner'hes noted the most common rank-and-file Novicani. Dressed in psychomeld armor and embellishments that resembling those worn by Renaissance Era humans of antiquity, each Novicani was armed with a Swiftstrike rifle that fired monomolecular beams that can easily pass through ceramite and plasteel, a Swiftstrike pistol for close quarters combat, a Hypervibrato sword for melee, several anti-personnel Corona grenades and anti-armor and building Solarix grenades, and a copy of the D'hatellean Writ, the holy text of the Celestial Creed. Depending on combat role; however, a Novicani may have different weapons than his or her peers, such as the Quasar beam cannon for tank hunting or the Starshred heavy machine gun for infantry suppression. For headgear, the males wore the traditional crested half helms while the females wore the newer combat bonnets.

Stationed behind the Novicani were shock infantry units known as Clash-teams. Consisting of the large and bulky, autonomous Ares Bots and the lightly armored but fleetfooted Methuselon Bladebards, Whereas the Ares Bots were armed with the huge, two-handed Severstar claymores, the Bladebards were armed with twin Rhapsody swords, each vibrating so fast that they make a constant ringing, cutting through wraithbone and carapace armor with ease while humming a song of carnage. These Clash-teams are tasking with engaging in melee foes the Novicani cannot handle themselves.

Next is the famous (or rather infamous) Ai'psyte snipers, scouts who can track and strike their chosen targets with an uncanny skill that even the assassins of Vindicare would envy. Armed with their trademark Deathblink sniper rifles, such is their dedication to perfecting their art that they are often blindfolded. Instead, they 'see' through an eye-shaped symbol on the front of the peaked hoods they wear, seeing through both environmental and enemy cover and tricks with a clarity that's matched only by a Cerebromancer and surpassed by a stronger Methuselon, such as a Strategon.

Next, beside the Cerebromancers H'ratega spoke of earlier, was the Voltakai assault troopers. Flying into the thick of combat to engage in bloody melee or to capture a strategic location, these winged elite infantry are deadly in both melee and range and are known to show great resolve in the face of overwhelming odds. Armored with psionclas and armed with the best weapons in the Methuselon Empire, few can stand up to these steadfast warriors.

Next to the elite soldiers were several battalions of the well known warrior-tricksters and troublemakers called the Juveniles. Essentially made up of Methuselon teenagers and adolescences who joined the various art cabals, the Juveniles have shunned more traditional roles in favor of enhancing the cultural aspect of Methuselon society. Engaging in various activities that ranged from writing poetry to acrobatics, these Juveniles are exceptional performers and great storytellers, having a significant part in preserving Methuselon lore. In combat; however, their surreal ability to easily dodge enemy attacks while unleashing swift, often disorienting, counterattacks and witty insults often boosts morale, spurring the other soldiers into taking advantage of the distraction to strike. To differentiate themselves from the others, the Juveniles often wear elaborate, often unconventional costumes and fight with unorthodox but very effective weaponry, which also helps them to distract their foes. However, their flaunty attitude and naivety make them vulnerable to more cunning and merciless foes.

Finally, on the infantry side of the army, Ioner'hes saw the Puzzleteks. Originally Methuselon combat engineers and medical personnel who no longer saw a need to mend the organic bodies of their people at the conclusion of the Age of Flesh, they have instead turned to maintaining the psychomeld bodies of their race, as well as to construct various buildings and vehicles. Their psychomeld tentacles waved lazily in the air as a mockery of mechadendrites.

Noting the various vehicles, which ranged from the lightly armored but very fast Stormbykes to the towering, single-eyed, intimidating Principali Combat Walkers, Ioner'hes' gaze fell on the alien auxiliaries attached to her army. Though many alien races have converted to the Celestial Creed, only three of them were powerful and numerous enough to send troops to help spread the Creed throughout the Milky Way Galaxy.

One of them were the fierce and honor-bound Scorikai. A warlike reptilian race, the Scorikai were once enslaved to the Turanek for millennia before the their first contact with the Methuselon. When the Famesa (Tyranids) began consuming Turanek-held planets, it was the Methuselon who'd evacuated their entire race to sparsely inhabited planets close to their own home systems. Ever since then, the Scorikai have bound themselves to helping the Methuselon spread their interests and creed wherever they go.

Next is a race of which Ioner'hes is more familiar. Known as the Euthymikans, these aliens are a strange breed of sentient, humanoid plant life with barely detectable animal DNA. Hailing from the jungle planet from which they get their name, the Euthymikans are mostly peaceful missionaries who found their Great Gardener similar to the Methuselon's Celestial Mother, making their conversion to the Creed very rapid. However peaceful they may be, the Euthymikans are not to be underestimated, as they are natural-born scientists. Many a predatory enemy found himself attacked by monstrous, semi-sentient trees with nigh-impregnable bark, as well as various botanic monsters not too dissimilar to the hostile flora of Catachan. They are also great healers, working alongside existing Methuselon medics to cure ailments afflicting their comrades and even potential converts of foreign worlds.

Last but not least, there were the Nargavinri. Resembling Terran lemmings, the Nargavinri are widely known for their intense group mentality. In fact, each Nargavinri are hardly capable of thinking for him or herself without outside help and the act of naming oneself is barely tolerated at best. Having a rate of population growth close to that of the Orks, the Nargavinri are constantly trying to prevent overpopulation by sending vast colonies to faraway planets or fighting in distant wars. Very frenzied and relentless in combat, the Nargavinri are capable of overwhelming enemies with numbers, often sustaining extreme casualties in the process. So great is their conviction in the Creed that death is not even an afterthought; it's something to be ignored. However, some Methuselon behavioral scientists believed that the Nargavinri are actively fighting in the Methuselon's wars simply to stave off multitudes of extra mouths to feed.

Concentrating for a moment, Ioner'hes' vision was jerked back to darkness when she banished the Seergazer's Eye to nothingness. Opening her eyes, Ioner'hes stood up, her normal gaze scanning every face in the army. She could sense the anticipation rising from each warrior, covering the entire area like a fog.

"Warriors of the Creed!" she finally spoke, the nearby psytransmitters relaying her words into every soldier's mind. "Today is the day in which Cassiopeia has blessed us with a galaxy filled with potential converts, a new frontier awaiting Her sacred touch! Though we, the Methuselon, are Her chosen people, let us not forget that those who also embrace the Creed are our brothers and sisters! Together, our most glorious victory is assured!"

The miles of soldiers literally erupted into a thunderous cheer, their various accents making the joyful noise more colorful.

Waiting for everything to fall silent again, Ioner'hes continued, "However, allow me to be frank: the road ahead will be long and brutal. The enemies you will face will do extreme acts of depravity that would vex your very souls in ways physical weapons cannot. Though we, the Methuselon, cannot experience physical pain, even we aren't immune to psychological torment and many of you will have the urge to question the worth of the Creed and even that of the Celestial Mother. Therefore, I beseech you to remain faithful to both unto the bitter end, for without either, you are nothing!" The army cheered again, louder than before.

"Also, I beseech that you do not take our allies for granted. Though they are not blessed with half-immortally or the inability to feel pain, their dedication to the Celestial Creed are worth more than our most powerful weapons! After all, faith and loyalty are the greatest gifts we can give to Cassiopeia!"

As the Methuselon cheered, the Scorikai roared, thrusting their crude weapons into the air. As Euthymika's finest warriors clapped and whistled, the Nargavinri cheered loudly, their clattering filling the air.

"In the Milky Way Galaxy, our enemies are numerous and very powerful. There will be times in which we will face a very stubborn foe. There will be times when the enemy will unleash horrific weaponry and foul beasts upon us. As we will be fighting on the Mephistorum's home turf, you must expect them to fight us with a tenacity unmatched by even the Turanek, as our Mother will soon prove to be a threat to the dark gods they worship. They will seek to destroy us from the inside and out. They will be merciless and relentless, being the cruel savages they are. "

"However, fear not! As we convert more and more people to the Creed, Cassiopeia will become stronger and stronger until the day comes when she will be strong enough to slay the Mephistorum's evil gods once and for all! No matter what the Milky Way Galaxy throws at us, be it Famesa, Mephistorum, or worse, we shall prevail! We shall overcome all obstacles and barriers. We shall conquer our enemies and tear down their fortresses! With the Celestial Mother on our side, those who stand behind our banner shall find peace and purpose in their lives and those who stand in our path shall be utterly vanquished! Glory to the Creed! Long live our Mother!"

"Glory to the Creed! Long live our Mother!" the soldiers chanted together as one, pumping their fists into the air. "Glory to the Creed! Long live our Mother!"

As the soldiers continued to chant, Ioner'hes joined them, thrusting her acoustron mace into the air. Never in her short career as Strategon had Ioner'hes felt so alive. Not only was this to be the greatest campaign she'd ever partaken in her life but she was actually helping her civilization spread the Creed to those trapped in the darkness that is ignorance. After all, it is Cassiopeia's will.

In a few more hours, the four armies, along with Praetorian Fyr'don, his bodyguard unit of the elite Psycrum Legionnaires, and various clergymen and others, will board huge voidfaring vessels, protected by the best ships in the Methuselon Navy. According to overall strategy, the armies of Merykus and Ka'tarei are to be deployed to the galactic south of the Milky Way which is, unbeknownst to the Methuselon, the Imperium's Segmentum Tempestus. Ioner'hes and Kai'yeina's armies, on the other hand, were to be deployed to the Eastern Fringe. The journey to the Milky Way was to take about six years. However, the Methuselon was a patient race and time itself, like the Celestial Mother, is always on their side.

''''''''''''''''''''

**Tyran Primus, an hour later…**

For the survivors of Imperial Outpost TY295-5843, the situation was dire indeed. Of the regiment of guardsmen stationed at this fortress, only thirty men remained. Though Magos Varnak was still alive, he'd lost all but ten of his Skitarii and his servitors were slaughtered to a man. The guardsmen who'd fought on the famous death world of Catachan were all either dead or had ran away, the xenos paying them for their cowardice with multitudes of teeth and claws. Along with the sanctioned psykers and astropaths, Commissar Octavius and Colonel Augusta was dead, the latter eaten alive by one of the behemoths who are even now ramming the large defensive structure where the group are currently garrisoned. Though he was unofficially the commander of these men, Varnak had never felt so burdened in his life.

Outside the command structure, the xenos were attempting to crawl through the narrow slits, their claws and talons grabbing anyone foolish enough to remain close by. The valiant guardsmen fought back, skewering their bodies with lasfire. As the xenos fell, more took their places, clawing and biting at the slits in an attempt to widen them. As the guardsmen unload more lasfire into them, the bunker rocked when one of the huge xenos, the screamer-killers as the guardsmen called them, rammed against the bunker, creating more cracks in the bunker's walls. Dust fell from the ceiling.

On the tactical display, the green blip that represented the command bunker were surrounded by a crowd of red dots that was steadily getting larger. Seeing that it was the only friendly dot on the display, as the other bunkers have already fallen, Varnak began to groan in anguish. With a roar, he smashed his fist into the display, knocking it into two pieces. The majority of the guardsmen turned to look at him briefly as they engaged the xenos.

Dropping onto his knees, Varnak covered his heavily augmented face, moaning loudly. "We cannot live through this. Mankind cannot live through this," he cried out to no one in particular. "In a single day they have covered this planet with a flood of living blades and needle-fanged mouths. Kill one, and ten take its place. If they are truly without number, then our race is doomed to a violent death before every shred of our civilization is scoured away by a force more voracious than the fires of hell themselves."

Finally unable to take it anymore, Varnak threw his head back and screamed, "DEATH! Oh, by the Machine God, DEATH IS HERE!"

At that very moment, the heavy adamantium doors that held the horrors at bay caved inward when a screamer-killer slammed into it. With renewed yells of fury, the guardsmen who were equipped with flamers bathed the breach with flaming promethium. Though untold numbers of the smaller aliens were incinerated by the flaming liquid, the larger xenos with bulging heads ran through the substance, uncaring of the amount of damage the flames was doing to their bodies as they closed in with their prey. Caught in the tightly packed corners of the bunkers, the guardsmen and Skitarii fired their weapons at point-blank, killing some of the larger aliens even as they were cut down by the onrushing tide of xenos entering the bunker.

A few guardsmen, having either ran out of ammo or were too tightly packed together to use their bayonets effectively without hurting each other, even attacked the aliens with their bare hands, gouging out eyes or wringing necks even as the xenos ripped bloody chunks of flesh off their bodies. One guardsman in particular slammed a meaty fist into a large xeno's head so hard that he broke its jaw. However heroic or astonishing the man's move may have been, he'd only angered the alien further. With a howling roar that sounded strange due to its loosely hanging jaw, the xeno swiped at the guardsman with a powerful claw, ripping his head off.

Getting back up, Varnak turned to face one of the larger xenos who was circling him, looking for an opening. Having lost his axe hours ago and the majority of his mechadendrites minutes later, Varnak was all but defenseless. However, though he can no longer fight these xenos, he can at least warn the rest of the Imperium of the danger these foul aliens posed. Stealing a glance at the cameras recording everything inside the bunker since the beginning of the invasion, Varnak's finger hovered over a nearby switch which, if pressed, will save every second of audio and visual recording to a highly encrypted data-codex that will then be downloaded to a cogitator deep in the bowels of the fortress.

As the creature prepared a leap, Varnak silently began to pray: _"Dear Omnissiah, if you are willing, please protect this holy data from the corruption of evil machine spirits, for the existence of your mechanical servants and all of humanity depends on it."_

At that moment, the creature charged, moving faster than a normal human can blink. Pressing the switch, Varnak gave the creature an inward grin of defiance moments before he was ripped in half.


	3. Chapter 2: Taking Root

**Disclaimer: I own none of the works belonging to the author(s), owner company, and game designer(s) of the Warhammer 40K game series or books, neither do I own any of the characters, units, races, and places inside said media, save for those imagined and created by me.**

**Chapter 2: Taking Root**

"_Every action, whether it's launching a crusade on a hated foe or recovering a planet lost to the forces of Chaos, begins with but a single step." -Emperor of Mankind._

**The Dead Planet of Tyran Primus**

**Six years, seven months, five days, and eight hours later…**

Floating in the dead void of space under the rays of a nearby sun was a barren ball of rock that was devoid of life. No longer having an atmosphere, the planet wasn't all too dissimilar to Luna, with its valleys and basins that were once rivers and seas long ago. Like the skeleton of a planet picked clean by extragalactic locusts, Tyran stood as a testament to what the Great Devourer is capable of.

Suddenly, an area in the void just three thousand kilometers from the dead planet began to ripple. Seconds later, a large Warp portal erupted out of nowhere and, just as quickly as it arrived, blinked out of existence, leaving in its wake a great coalition fleet consisting of ships of various sizes and shapes. Most of the ships boasted a sleek design with sky-blue running lights flashing slowly at their sides and bows. Though each ship was made of a white and black material, they all bore red markings with a black vortex-shaped symbol in the middle.

Mingled among the vessels were greenish-blue, living ships of an organic design. In fact, at a closer inspection, one would find that these ships seemed to be plant-like in appearance. The leaf-life structures on the surfaces of each ship unfurled, photosynthesizing the life giving energy of the sun into usable food and fuel for the crews and ships, respectively. Petal-like structures flashed rapidly in color, a means of communication within the living, breathing fleet.

The third fleet; however, wasn't as inviting. Blades adorned the sides of each vessel like wings while spines ran along the dorsal like those of ancient Terran dinosaurs. Flashing blood red running lights, the scale-covered surfaces of each ship were covered in old scorch marks and scars, most of them dating back to the Methuselon-Turanek Wars. Faux blood had been painted onto the blades, spines, and surfaces, giving each ship a fearsome appearance.

The four fleet, though wasn't as intimidating as the third, was just as dangerous. Though each tan-colored ship only has as many guns as an Imperial cruiser and the maneuverability of a battleship, it made up for it by being even more heavily armored. However, if that isn't enough to make any enemy captain nervous, each ship is very large indeed, seemly brimming with numerous fighter bays and thousands of potential boarders who can flood the corridors of any enemy ship in a furry tide of suicidal fury.

When the combined fleet got closer to the barren planet, one of the sleeker vessels launched a probe which descended at an exponential rate as the gravity well captured it and pulled it closer to the surface. However, as there was no longer an atmosphere encompassing the planet, no friction existed to help slow down the probe, despite the use of its braking thrusters. For the first time in six years, a large explosion lit up the lifeless ground as the probe smashed into it.

For a moment, the coalition fleet was still. Finally, one of the large living ships moved closer to the planet, a hexagonal array of six huge ports opening up on its bow. Minutes later, six large projectiles were launched out of the holes, sent plummeting to the planet. After what seemed like an eternity, the six objects crashed into the planet, exploding into a massive green cloud. What happened next was spectacular.

When the cloud reached an attitude of thirteen miles, it began to spread out from ground zero. Billions upon billions of spores that made up the cloud glowed brighter as the sun's energy was absorbed, their basic opaque structures changing into something more transparent. Hours later, having spread out into a seven hundred kilometer radius, the cloud eventually formed into a slightly green, nearly transparent bubble. After waiting for two additional hours for the spores to produce a breathable local atmosphere, thousands of shuttles exited the fleets, moving in to settle on the planet.

In the farthest reach of the Eastern Fringe, unbeknownst to the Imperium, the forces of the Orminus Turbinon have arrived.

Stepping out of her personal shuttlecraft, Strategon Ioner'hes looked around the barren expanse of the planet, marveling at the sheer monotony. Above her, more shuttles were entering the now oxygenated skies like an extraterrestrial rainstorm, the spore-filled bubble closing after each entry. All around her, warriors of every race began marching out of their craft, spreading outward to defend the landing zone from any unknown enemies who may've seen them land on the planet.

Soon enough, the Puzzleteks erected Methuselon structures, their soothing, crystalline humming filling the air as their tentacles seemed to call forth the psychomeld. These pieces were then placed together, flawlessly interlocking with each other as a tribute to their builders' namesake. Meanwhile, the Euthymikan builders or cultivators, as they are called, actually 'grew' their structures, using wands of blue, glowing wood to direct their formation into various shapes. The Scorikai and Nargavinri, on the other hand, built their structures using the conventional method, the latter using cheaper, mass-produced parts.

Several hours later, four spawning bases of different xeno origins dotted the barren surface of Tyran Primus.

As Ioner'hes watched four Scorikai warriors spar with each other, further honing their skills in melee combat, one of the Euthymikans walked up to her, stopping beside her. The leaves that formed the upper layers of the Euthymikan's long skirt are crimson while the lower layers were a creamy white. Her upper body armor; however, is made of a strong, shell-like material that can stop all but the most powerful attacks. Like the rest of her race, the Euthymikan is female, has pale, green skin, an angular face, pointy ears, thin extremities that belie unnatural reflexes and swiftness, and enlarged irises. The long, salmon-pink petals that made up her hair waved effortlessly in the slight breeze of the contained atmosphere. Her delicate fingers were wrapped around the shaft of a magenta-colored staff that held a greenish orb containing mysterious energies.

Wordlessly, both females continued to watch the four reptilian warriors, who were now congratulating each other and commenting on each of their skills. Finally, Ioner'hes spoke, "After six years in the Warp, it must feel so good to be back in realspace, don't you agree Chlayrsendas?"

Taking a deep breath, Chlayrsendas finally responded in an airy voice, " 'Tis a wonderful feeling to feel the soil of a planet underneath one's feet again after so long, Ioner'hes. My people hate being away from such nourishment for a long time. 'Tis like being away from one's bed whist on a long journey."

Nodding, Ioner'hes turned her attention toward the shimmering firmament that is the bubble. "So, how long will the artificial atmosphere last?"

"Around fifty years or so, just until the environment can sustain its own atmosphere. Of course, it'll be easier if we cover the entire planet." Chlayrsendas smiled warmly, turning her attention to a group of cultivators who were tilling the ground as another group behind them scattered seeds into the prepared earth. Turning back to Ioner'hes, Chlayrsendas' smile widened into a grin. "As Horticar, which falls next to your rank of 'Strategon', 'tis also my duty to oversee the reestablishment of the Gardener's living artwork on worlds ravaged by wars and savage industry. 'Tis through our dedication to Her wishes that dead worlds are given new life."

"Yes, just as the Celestial Creed breathes new life into beings who have long been killed spiritually by ignorance and lies," Ioner'hes added.

"Aye, that is true, Methuselon-Sister," Chlayrsendas looked up just in time to see several large Euthymikan ships enter the faux atmosphere. Vines waved slowly on the surfaces of each ship like green tentacles. "Ah, just in time! Witness the wonderful dispersal of one of the Mother's greatest blessings to life itself: water!"

As if on cue, the vines spurted out great volumes of water in fine mists. As the air caught the droplets, clouds began to form, clumping into each other as they grew and then darkened into towering thunderheads. Several peals of thunder joined in the usual ambience of the four military bases, causing most of the personnel to look up.

As the first drops of rain fell on her psychomeld face, Ioner'hes smiled, stretching out her arms as she visualized how they would've felt had she still kept her organic body. Sighing in contentment, she turned to Chlayrsendas. "What other wonders do your race have up their sleeves, Euthymikan-Sister?" she asked her.

The Euthymikan general only smirked. "Stick close to us and you'll find out soon enough."

'''''''''''''''''''

**Segmentum Tempestus**

**Thirty-four minutes and four seconds later…**

**Unnamed planet**

"Greenskins sighted approximately thirty-seven meters and four inches away," the Ai'psyte silently chirped into his voice piece. Crouching in the bushes, his ghastcloth cloak enabling him to blend into his surroundings, the seasoned sniper psychically linked with the scope of his Deathblink, viewing the small group of Orks through the eye-shaped symbol on its front end. Numbering around five Orks, the group of the green monsters was talking to each other in their uncivil and barbaric tongue, their words scraping against his hearing like the grinding of millstones. "Permission to terminate them, Strategon-Brother."

'''''''''''''''

"Permission denied, at least for the moment," Merykus answered, pacing around the spacious bridge of his flagship, the _Starry Sword_. From the perspective of a member of Orminus Stellos, Merykus' mildly frustrated and disappointed mood was understandable. Unlike Ka'tarei's Orminus Meteonra, who'd settled on a jungle planet that haven't yet felt the touch of civilization, Merykus' forces couldn't make planetfall yet, as their initial landing zones were too close to a large Ork settlement. Feeling that the creatures may've spread throughout the planet and would amass into a marauding horde if the bulk of the army landed at the wrong time, Merykus decided to follow a more subtle tactic: eliminate the Bosses of each Ork settlement surrounding the proposed landing zones as well as taking out important Ork structures. That way, he'd hoped to sow confusion among the Orks and to severely hamper them, allow the rest of Orminus Stellos to finish them off for good.

"Listen in as best as you can to their conversations, Ai'psyte-Brother," he continued. "Perhaps they will lead you to their Boss or speak of important things, like the location of more alien species."

The Ai'psyte remained silent as if he'd rather massacre the Orks rather than to spy on them. Finally, he relented, _"Very well, Strategon-Brother. Your orders shall be carried, so help me Mother."_

"Good, continue on."

''''''''''''''''''

Putting up the voice piece, the Ai'psyte turned a pointy, psychomeld ear toward the Orks, his hatred of the greenskins, with their brutal, primitive ways and sheer ugliness, apparent on his face. However, he quickly whispered a silent prayer to Cassiopeia, thanking her that he no longer has the ability to smell them.

"Wot did yer say?!" One of the larger Orks growled at his smaller peer, who shrank back slightly in fear. "Are yer telling me dat dose boyz frum wun ov dose klans in da 'ills are respon… refonz… ah zog it, are da wun 'ooze ta blame fo stealing me mega choppa?!"

"Well, umm…" the smaller Ork nervously explained, choosing his words wisely as if saying the wrong thing would end up in him getting pounded to a bloody mess. "Weez did kinda raidid 'is junkyard last week, so itz kinda ta be expectid dat he wud try ta get sum paybak."

This only made the large Ork even more furious and he threw his head back and bellowed out a loud Waaugh! The Ai'psyte even gritted his teeth to avoid screaming out, which would reveal his location to the Orks. "Wen I get me 'ands on dat weedy git, I'm gonna squeeze 'im so 'ard that 'ell squeal loike a squig being grindid ta a pulp!"

"Oh ho, ho, ho, I can't wait ta see yer make 'is eyes pop out!" said a third Ork, who were somewhere between the two Orks' heights. " 'ell squeal _reelly _nicely, just loike dose 'umies weez stomped last monf. Yer shoulda seen dem cryin', blastin' off bak inta space 'n dere flying kans and kroozers, Hah! Now dat was gud fighting!"

_'Humies?' _the Ai'psyte thought to himself, knowing full well that the Orks' grammar, if it's even worthy enough to be called that, has corrupted the appropriate spelling and pronunciation of the word. So another race has indeed tried to settle on this world, only to be driven off by the Orks.

Unfortunately for the Greenskins; however, Orminus Stellos will prove to be an even more unmovable enemy.

"Shut up, yer stoopid git!" the Ork barked. "I knows 'ow da big fight went. I was dere, too! In fact, I was- er, wot was I ranting 'bout first?"

"Da mega choppa," the small Ork said plainly.

"Waaaugh! Dat grot-kissing git stole me mega choppa! C'mon boyz, letz get killin'!"

Just as the Ork was about to leave, a sixth Ork arrived at the scene, his thick arms flailing. "Boyz, come quik! Da Boss needs ya!"

"Wot the zog are yer yellin' 'bout?!" the Ork grumbled impatiently.

"Weez unda attack frum wun ov dose boyz frum da 'ills!" he shouted louder, gobs of salvia dripping from his large mouth. "Git yer grotholes bak ta da camp, _NOW_!"

"Waaugh! Dat no gud deef could be dere, too! Save 'im for me or I'll stomp yer 'eads in!"

As the six Orks ran back to the camp, the Ai'psyte smiled inwardly, realizing that he was now getting somewhere. Checking to make sure that no other Orks were still around, he left the bush and stalked the greenskins, anticipating blasting the Ork leader's head apart in a satisfying spray of blood and brains. The hunt was now on.

After long minutes of trailing the monsters through the forest, the Ai'psyte finally arrived at a large Ork settlement. Kneeling in the tall grass, the ghastcloth cloak rendering him almost invisible, the Ai'psyte channeled more energy into the large eye-shaped glyph on his hood to take a much closer look, his 'vision' magnifying to a range comparable to a pair of magnoculars. The buildings, as he had expected from the green savages, were adorned with spikes and pieces of rusted metal sheets bolted erratically to the structures. The still rotting heads of vanquished Orks were impaled onto the spikes, along with several smaller, thinner skulls belonging to other aliens, perhaps the 'Humies' the Ork spoke of. The six Orks were heading down the hill overlooking the settlement.

However, to the far left of the settlement, gunfire filled the air as two large groups of Orks fought each other on the plains. As scores of the green-skinned savages fought one another, hacking into their enemies' flesh with crude axes and large knives, many of the monsters were gunned down by ramshackle machineguns mounted on vehicles. A few of the Orks were torn to pieces by cylindrical combat walkers.

One of the Orks defending the settlement caught his 'eye', and the Ai'psyte turned to look, raising his weapon and channeling his vision into the scope to look closer. Towering above the surrounding Orks was an exceptionally large Ork. Heavily armored with spiky plates, the Ork carried a large totem on his back, the skulls of his defeated enemies hanging from the supports via chains. The huge Ork wielded a large warhammer with spikes on both ends. Thankfully, of course, the brute's head was unprotected.

"So, you're the Boss, huh," the Ai'psyte muttered to himself. Sending a tiny, barely detectable pulse of psychic energy at the Ork, the Ai'psyte waited for a few minutes for the Psionic Ping, as it was called by the Methuselon, to bounce off the Ork Boss and return to him. Once the ping reentered his head, he calculated his distance to the target, his psychognitor brain fine-tuning his ability to do so. _Two hundred and fifty seven yards and nine inches_. Seeing how hard the wind was hitting against the nearby trees, swaying them toward the right, the Ai'psyte aimed about three meters to the left of the Ork Boss.

"Forget the Creed," he whispered again. "You need a bullet instead."

The moment he pulled the trigger, the eye-shaped symbol on the front end of the scope 'blinked', unleashing a discharge of white energy out of the barrel of the namesake weapon. In the meters it covered within a few seconds, the projectile's trajectory was bended by the wind, pushing it toward the target like the swift dagger of the Celestial Mother herself.

A few seconds later, the upper part of the Ork Boss' skull erupted into an explosion of blood, brains, and bone fragments. The shorter Orks around him shouted in shock and surprise as they were showered by the debris. A tiny, greenish creature with a pointy nose screamed when the heavy body of his Boss fell on him, crushing him into a gory splat.

Breaking the channel between his 'vision' and the scope, the Ai'psyte looked up, a satisfied smirk growing on his face as he watched the chaos unfold. No sooner has the Ork Boss' headless body stopped roiling on the ground when his biggest boyz turned on each other, their crude weapons shedding the blood of who were formerly their comrades. Despite the fact that the invading Orks were still attacking the settlement, many of the smaller defending Orks took sides, championing their favorite Nobz as they killed off their rivals. In the space of five minutes, the defense of the Ork settlement turned into a free-for-all.

"As savage as these Orks are, I am not surprised," he finally said as he 'peered' again into the scope, looking for the Boss leading the attackers. If he succeeded in killing the second Ork Boss too, the resulting fight of succession among the Nobz of both warbands would keep the Orks occupied for a long time, allowing the army off planet to finish them off for good.

After several minutes of searching for the Boss, the Ai'psyte finally found him, leading a group of heavily armored Nobz toward the largest concentration of his fallen enemy's Nobz. Unlike his opponent, this Ork Boss wore a crude helmet with spikes of varying lengths circling the headgear in a barbaric parody of a crown. Not the one to show any sympathy to the enemies of the Creed, the Ai'psyte didn't even wince when the Ork Boss cut a swath through his enemies with a massive battle axe, flinging their intestines, heads, and limbs everywhere.

Feeling that a shot that didn't penetrate his helmet would alert the Ork Boss to his presence, the Ai'psyte decided to attempt a crackshot, planning to send a psybullet through one of his eyes. Thus, he aimed his Deathblink at the Ork Boss' face, drawing a bead on his right eye.

"See no death, feel nothing," he muttered.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a huge, green fist slammed into the left side of his head. Yelping in surprise, the Ai'psyte slammed into a tree, ripping off a good portion of the bark before crumpling to the ground. Shaking his head free of dust, the Ai'psyte kipped up and unsheathed his swiftstrike dagger-pistol, turning to faced his attacker. When he 'saw' who it was, he hissed dangerously like a Terran cobra.

Standing in front of him were four Orks who were around three to four heads higher than him. Each of them wore charcoal-colored facepaint and camouflage that looked as if they were painted too brightly, though the Ai'psyte were at a loss as how they were able to sneak up on him in such gear. In addition to pairs of goggles, the Orks held makeshift guns that could be likened to the shotguns Scorikai warriors often used in close combat. However, one of them, perhaps the leader, wielded a strange bulky axe of the likes he haven't seen. The thing gave off a low rumble as its metal teeth ran along the head of the weapon as a single row.

"Well, well, well, "the beast rumbled in its barbaric tongue, baring yellowing tusks. The Ai'psyte was thankful that he could not smell its breath. "Wot do we 'ave 'ere? A leetle Eldar boy movin' 'ere and dere, actin' all sneaky-loike. _Pfah! _We showed you dat we kommandos are da sneakiest!"

"_Eldar?"_ the Ai'psyte wondered in confusion, raising an eyebrow. _"Don't tell me that these monsters think I'm Eldar."_

"Wait a minute, Boss," one of the smaller Ork kommandos spoke up, looking at the Ai'psyte suspiciously. "I may've 'ad me brain zogged 'n dat last fight but I don't fink 'eez an Eldar. 'is face is too shiny an' pale!"

"Shut yer mouf, yer zoggin' git!" the large kommando whirled around, giving the unfortunate Ork a faceful of drool as he raged. "Ov course da Eldar are shiny! I've fought dem before! In fact, dere gear makes fo great lootin'!"

"I know, Boss, but 'e looks loike 'eez made ov da stuff da Eldar use ta build dere fings." The Ork sniffed the air, "On top ov dat, I can't even smell 'im."

The Kommando Nob considered this for a moment. Finally, he shrugged, "Well, I don't care wot 'e is, just dat 'ell be worth selvunty teef. Let's scrape 'im, boyz! Waaugh!

At once, the Orks charged as one, their guns giving way to crude melee weapons with serrated edges. Quickly, the Ai'psyte fired his weapon at the closest Ork, hitting him in the arm. However, the monster either didn't register the pain or simply ignored it. Firing another shot into the Ork's face, the Ai'psyte backflipped, dodging the horizontal stash of the Ork's chainaxe. Reaching down to pick up a rock, the Ai'psyte threw it at the Ork at a blinding speed. Though it missed the Kommando Nob, the rock smashed into one of the other Orks, putting out his left eye. Roaring in pain and fury, the Ork threw the knife at the Ai'psyte. Flipping into the air, the Ai'psyte caught the knife in midair and landed on his feet, using the centrifugal force gained to propel the knife back at its owner.

The knife plunged into the Ork's throat in a sickening _*shink*_and the beast coughed up a glob of blood before falling onto his face. Behind him, the other Orks roared, carelessly stepping on the body of their fallen comrade as a testament to Orks' general lack of concern toward each other.

A glint in the corner of his 'eye' caught his attention and the Ai'psyte took a quick glance. There, lying on a bed of leaves, was his Deathblink sniper rifle. However, it was closest to the Kommando Nob coming at him now with his fearsome weapon. Muttering a quick prayer to Cassiopeia, the Ai'psyte ran full tilt at the large Ork, a plan already forming in his head. Seeing that the strange weedy git was running toward him, the Kommando Nob chuckled derisively, believing that he'd finally decided to stop running away and to start fighting him.

Meters closed rapidly between the two opponents as seconds gone by. Even the other two Orks stopped to gawk at the sight of their Nob facing off against a stranger. As the smaller alien came closer, the Kommando Nob grinned, anticipating the satisfying crunch his chainaxe will make when it smashes into the frail git's body. He then began to wonder what he could buy with his seventy teef: all the fungus beer he could drink, plenty of delicious squig-meat to eat, and even the handful of grots he could hire…

Unfortunately for the Nob, the Ai'psyte saw that he was distracted and managed to drop underneath a chainaxe swing that came too late. As he slid between the Nob's legs, the AI'psyte channeled psychic energy into his dagger-pistol and fired charged shots at the monster's hamstrings, severing them. With a loud roar of agony and surprise, the Kommando Nob fell onto his face, sliding to a stop in the grass.

Getting back up, the Ai'psyte turned to face the two Orks who were looking at him. Seeing that their leader had been bested by such an 'unOrky' tactic, their expressions became dangerous. It was only the shortest of the pair who spoke, "Yer zoggin' git, youz no reel fighta! Yer just a schemi... skimmi... , ah zog it, yer just a sneaky leetle grot 'ooze too weak ta fight roight an' proppa! Now die!"

The Ai'psyte launched himself into a dive toward his right when both Orks pulled out their guns and opened fire. The sounds of pinging erupted from his left side and the Ai'psyte felt himself being pushed slightly off course, Landing into a roll, he dove again, this time behind a thick tree as projectiles ripped through the surrounding grass and at the tree itself. Checking his left side, the Ai'psyte tsked when he saw several dents in the psychomeld, some of the jagged projectiles jutting out of the few holes that did penetrated the material.. A few pieces even rattled inside his torso with every movement. Fortunately, nothing important seemed to be damaged.

"Aw, and I'd just polished the surface," he muttered in mock frustration before peeking over the side of the tree. While the Kommando Nob was pushing himself into a sitting position. the two Orks were cautiously closing in, their makeshift shotguns pointing at the tree. Channeling energy into his dagger-pistol, the Ai'psyte carefully aimed at one of them, the tall grass hiding him from view, and pulled the trigger.

The right side of the Ork's head erupted into a gory spray, splashing blood into the eyes of the other Ork. With a frustrated growl, the Ork knocked the still standing body of his comrade down and threw a stikkbomb at the Ai'psyte's last known location. After a delay of five seconds, the grenade exploded, kicking up dust. Strangely though, the Ai'psyte didn't even scream.

Keeping his shotgun trained on the tree, the Ork rested his finger on the trigger, expecting for the stranger to pop out of hiding and into his death at the business end of his weapon. Behind him, the Kommando Nob was now kneeling, the advanced healing properties of Ork physiology mending his hamstrings one by one. "Wen I get me 'ands on dat shiny git, I gonna rip off 'is arm off an' choke 'im wit it!" the Ork kommando grumbled to himself.

Unfortunately, those were to become the Ork's last words as his head was blown off at the neck by a well-placed psybullet.

Behind the falling body of the Ork stood the Ai'psyte, holding his Deathblink rifle in his hands. After killing the first Ork of the pair, he'd used the momentary distraction to quickly crawl toward his rifle just as the other Ork threw the stikkbomb, believing him to still be behind the tree. Kneeling down, the Ai'psyte turned around and trained his rifle on the Kommando Nob, who was beginning to stand. At first, the Ai'psyte thought of playing with his prey, shooting off his joints just to hear him scream. However, being fully aware of the perils of lingering for too long in one place, he decided to end it here and now.

Turning to face the Ai'psyte, the last thing the Kommando Nob saw was a flash of light coming from a shiny weapon that, in his opinion, was rightfully his.

Watching the large Ork fall onto his back, a jagged hole in his chest, the Ai'psyte heard the whirring of engines in the skies above him. At first, he thought that Orks fighters were flying in to join the fight. However, a look upward revealed thousands of carriers and shuttles descending toward the planet, each painted blue and displaying a black star-shaped symbol, Sleek in design, these ships were joined by other ships of various origins. Realizing what was going on, the Ai'psyte took out his comm. device and switched to the flagship's channel.

"Strategon Merykus, I don't understand. Why are the shuttles landing now? I have not yet completed the mission," he asked, keeping his eyes on the carnage that was about to unfold. Traveling with the landing craft were vanguards of Catonerik-class bombardment ships. Able to dish out enormous damage with their onboard lasers and missile pods and to withstand such in return, these cigar-shaped ships are the bane of every planetary defense force who doesn't have sufficiently powerful anti-air weaponry.

In spite of this, the Orks were oblivious to the new threat literally hanging over their heads.

"_All is well, Ai'psyte Cam'ri, "_ came the Strategon's response. His calm voice was laced with a bit of anticipation. _"The other Ai'psytes , as well as our allies' scouts, have stow more than enough confusion among the Orks, fulfilling the conditions needed to launch the planetary invasion. Rendezvous at the given coordinates and standby for extraction."_

Looking at the coordinates on his device's HUD, Cam'ri stole a glance at the Ork settlement. The Ork Boss had managed to kill off most of his rival's Nobz who wouldn't submit to his leadership and was going after the remaining pockets of resistance. Above the Orks, the Catonerik were still descending upon them like huge predators, getting within range of their forward mounted weapons. Already, the pods on the closest ships were belching out salvos of missiles.

"As you wish, Strategon-Brother," Cam'ri finally said. "However, though I have killed one of the Ork Bosses, another who was attacking his settlement is still alive. Permission to linger for a bit to kill him?"

"_There is no need, Ai'psyte-Brother. He will be dealt with shortly."_

The veteran Ai'psyte cocked an eyebrow. "May I ask how so?"

Cam'ri could almost sense Merykus smirking. _"After spending about six years traveling through the Warp, with no one to practice with besides sparring partners and mindscape simulacra, it's about time that I apply what I learned so far. Therefore, I will deal with this Ork Boss... personally."_

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**Forty-six minutes and twenty-eight seconds later...**

The Fhaelokon-class planetary assault carrier continued to rock as it entered the planet's atmosphere. Though the large landing craft is only a third of a Catonerik's size, which is only about four hundred and twenty meters long, it has a capacity of five hundred soldiers and enough room for fifty heavy vehicles or eighty light vehicles. Lying on the floor of the long aisle separating cells holding the soldiers and vehicle was a series of large elliptical matter-relay portals that ran its length. As the ship entered the cloud cover, the green lights of the carrier's hold shifted to a steady orange, alerting the crew that the battle zone had just been entered. A slow and dull klaxon ringed throughout the hold.

"Brothers! Sisters! This is the moment we've been waiting for!" Merykus announced from within his cell, his voice transmitted to everyone in the holding area. Bound to the cell walls along with him were the Kerapsim, an elite bodyguard of Methuselon warriors tasked with defending a Strategon's life. Handpicked by Merykus himself, most of them wielded a bladed weapon while a few held blunted weapons. Only one of them, a former Ai'psyte sniper, still carried the same Deathblink she received upon her graduation from the College so long ago. Numbering six warriors, each of them fidgeted restlessly in their restraints, eager to shed Ork blood.

"Seeing that the vile and savage Orks pose a threat to civilization in general and to those who will convert to the Creed in the future," Merykus continued, "The Celestial Mother have seen fit to lead us, Orminus Stellos, to this planet, to cleanse its bountiful and resource-rich surfaces of that foul mold that is the greenskins."

As the holding area was filled with cheering, the sounds of battle became louder as the Fhaelokon approached the landing zone, its gravity-manipulator discs decelerating the shuttle's descent.

"When, _not if_, we win this battle, forget not that it was the Mother who gave you victory, for we are merely Her tools. When we gain control of this planet, it will be only one of many planets that will become the foothold of our faith and presence in this galaxy, a bastion against those who would try to uproot us. When those relay portals open up, we're going to run straight into them and drop right into hell! Those greenskinned barbarians may be strong, may be hard to kill, but we have something that they will never have and that is our Mother's blessing! Thus, that is why we... will... WIN!"

The cheering, much louder than before, echoed throughout the ship as even the ship's crew joined in the excitement. Even the rumbling of nearby explosions were drowned out by the soldiers' shouts and whistles. As the discs begin slowing the shuttle's descent to a crawl, the portals whirred to life, stirring sky bluish energies over their surfaces like froth inside of elongated cauldrons. A few seconds later, the orange lights turned to a blood red and the klaxon became a steady whine.

The Fhaelokon has reached the drop zone.

"Glory to the Creed!" Merykus yelled as his bindings dissolved into nothingness. His weapon in his hand, Merykus bolted out of the cell and raced to the portals along with his bodyguard. All around him, the Methuselon exited their cells and converged onto the portals like ants.

"Long live our Motheeeer!" he yelled before jumping into the nearest portal.

Immediately, energy whirled around him, forming into a nearly transparent, protective cocoon. Milliseconds later, he was dropped toward the ground, falling slowly like a huge raindrop and trailing blue sparkles in his wake. After falling about seventeen meters, he landed safely on the scorched ground, the bubble exploding into a burst of cyan light. Above him, the Fhaelokon continued to rain down warriors like a synthetic thunderstorm.

About forty meters away, the Ork settlement continued to burn, smoke billowing from ruins that were once towers. Charred bodies of the greenskins littered the area, leaves from the forest already covering their corpses. Pieces of more greenskins lined the numerous craters of the area, the first casualties in the Catonerik bombardment. Burning wreckage of Ork vehicles dotted the landscape which, along with the craters, provided plenty of cover.

After the last of his bodyguard rejoined him, Merykus ordered his soldiers to move forward cautiously; despite the suddenness of the initial attack, he can still sense a large Ork presence nearby. Therefore, the Methuselon moved toward the settlement, using the craters and wreckage to great effect. In the distance, the shrill battlecries of the Scorikai, the roars of Euthymikan lab-grown monsters, and the rumble of Nargavinri prefab vehicles mingled in with gunfire ringing out in the settlement.

Scanning the walls of the settlement in front of him, Merykus' attention focused on a squad of ten Novicani being led by a sergeant. Taking point, they were about ten feet from the closest cover. Wondering whether they will still be safe separated so far from the others, Merykus took a 'peek' down the pathways of their fates. At that moment, Merykus had a vision that lasted only a few seconds, However, in the vision, he saw pieces of the squad members scattered all over the ground, each Novicani having been hacked into so brutally. Since such a 'peek' can only see a few seconds into the future, Merykus knew that he didn't have time to waste if he's going to save the squad.

_~"Pull back immediately!"~ _he warned the sergeant using telepathy. _"Danger will annihilate you all if you don't hurry."~_

In the distance, the Methuselon sergeant halted his soldiers with a gesture. Issuing several sharp commands, he led the Novicani back toward the others. Merykus smiled slightly and was about to order some soldiers to cover their tactical retreat when the air was filled with the very warcry Merykus never thought he would hear so late in the fighting.

"**WAAAAAAAAAAUGH!"**

No less than forty Orks shot into the air, propelled by crude rockets strapped to their backs. While a few of them carried shootas, which they fired inaccurately at the Methuselon, the majority of them wielded choppas and chainaxes. Around fifteen of them landed at the previous location of the squad and began chasing the Novicani, using short bursts of their jetpacks to catch up to them.

"Attack the monsters! Attack!" Merykus yelled, running full tilt at the Orks, his ultimo glaive ringing as if eager to slaughter Orks. Behind him, the melee-oriented members of the Kerapsim joined the rush while the former Ai'psyte stayed behind, picking off targets.

Shafts of golden light shot out from the automatic guns of countless Novicani and impacted the thick bodies of the Orks, threading through them like needles. Many Orks died in the outburst of firepower but the attack only spurred the greenskins into turning on their attackers, jetting toward them with an eagerness that's only characteristic of a race that loved war.

As the Orks flew toward the Novicani, several Bladebards and Ares Bots moved through their less melee-oriented brethren to face them. Activating their personal gravity-manipulators, the Bladebards ran toward the enemy to pick up speed before leaping into the air, holding their twin swords like wings as they 'glided' toward the incoming Stormboyz. As they neared the Orks, the Bladebards pressed a button on the handles of their swords. Immediately, the usual ringing intensified greatly, entering the ears and minds of the greenskins. Suddenly, the Orks experienced an intense sense of confusion and disorientation. So affected were they that they accidentally bumped into each other, causing the unlucky Orks to veer off course and smash into the ground in a gory explosion. That was when the two airborne warriors clashed.

Moving as gracefully and as mercilessly as birds of prey, the Bladebards scythed through the Stormboyz effortlessly, swerving to avoid ill-timed attacks and inaccurate slashes as they weaved a beautiful song of humming carnage. Underneath the combatants, green limbs and severed bodies fell like rain while the Novicani fired controlled bursts, being careful not to hit their comrades fighting above. Meanwhile, the Ares Bots fought the Stormboyz who strayed from the mid-air fight, swatting them out of the air with the flat of their heavy, rectangular blades before finishing them off with a severing slice.

However, the Stormboyz chasing the squad of Novicani finally caught up with them. One Ork swinged his chainaxe, tearing through two Novicani and scattering their pieces everywhere. Another Ork destroyed two more Novicani before taking the sergeant's head off with another swing of his chainaxe. With a Waaugh!, the Ork threw a fist into the air, gleeful at participating in the greatest fight of his life.

Unfortunately for him, it was to become the last fight in his life, as a stream of psychic energy entered at that very moment into his open mouth, blasting his head into nothingness.

With a howl of fury, Merykus ran toward the Ork who first attacked the battalion, his glaive leveled at his chest. With a toothy grin, the Ork sidestepped the attack and swinged his chainaxe at the Strategon. Dropping into a slide, Merykus swinged his glaive upward and over his head, severing the arm holding the primitive weapon. As the Ork howled in pain and fury, Merykus swinged his weapon again, severing both of his legs. As the Ork fell onto his back, Merykus rolled backward, getting back onto his feet. He then twirled his glaive around his body and, before the Ork could respond, skewered his skull.

As his soldiers and bodyguards finished off the last of the Orks, Merykus yanked his glaive's tip out of the Ork's head and paused. He could hear the rumbling of engines. Before he could communicate this to his soldiers; however, a cannon opened fired inside the settlement and a section of the wall erupted, scattering debris everywhere. Wiping dust off his face, Merykus narrowed his eyes at what he saw. Pouring out of the gap were nine makeshift vehicles with covered flatbeds and machine gun nests mounted next to the cabs, five cylindrical walkers armed with flamers, claws, and circular saws, and a huge metal monstrosity that was adorned with bloodied spikes and more guns than even a heavy vehicle should have. A large circular saw was mounted on a crane arm attached near the rear of the vehicle and a spiky roller, which was still adorned with the crushed bodies of Nargavinri and a few Euthymikan warriors, was attached to the front. A strange gun was also mounted on a boxy turret atop the large vehicle. All of the vehicles were painted blue.

"_**RWARHAHAHA!" **_a brutish voice rang out from several speakers on the turret. Immediately, Merykus knew who it belonged to. _**"So, a buncha puny, sparkly, weedy gits dared ta invade me prize, eh? Well, I 'ate ta break it ta ya, but noobody interru... interi... ah zog it, nobody butts in unless dey want ta 'ave a taste of me killy battleaxe! I am Waaughboss Ghasha Da 'Ardest! Nuffing can krack dis 'ere fungus egg open, nuffing!"**_

Despite the predicament, Merykus couldn't help but to chuckle in derision. "That's because you've been fighting those who couldn't," he muttered to himself. On a whim, he spoke into Ghasha's head, pretending as best as he could to sound like an Ork.

_~"Yer not so tuff after all, Warboss!"~_

At first, Merykus wasn't sure that it would work. However, he became relieved when the Warboss responded violently, _**"Wot?! Who said dat?! Was it you?! Why, I'm gonna... WAAUGH!"**_

The Warboss's battleaxe fell upon the unfortunate Ork with an audible _*KA-SHINK!* _and blood sprayed out of one of the vehicle's gun ports, followed by a gurgling, dying cry.

These creatures are stupid, after all, Merykus deducted. Perhaps that can be used to his advantage.

"_**Stoopid git, dat's wot yer get for moufin' off at yer Waaughboss! Yer getting fed ta da grots when weez finished stompin' dese shiny gits. Oh Gork and Mork, now where was I? Oh yeah, c'mon Deffskullz, letz get lootin'! Krump dese zoggin' gits an' take dere gear, NOW!"**_

Immediately, the Ork vehicles stormed forward, kicking up a great amount of dust and leaves. As Merykus and the Kerapsim were the closest Methuselon to the Orks, he wasn't the least bit surprised when the two closest wartrukks swiveled their machine guns in his direction.

"Get into cover, now!" he yelled as he ran for the safety of a nearby crater, stepping over the psychomeld bodies of the sergeant and his 'slain' Novicani. As a Phantasma Drive has not yet been set up on the planet, their bodies could not be phased away to safety and their souls were now with the Celestial Mother, forever unable to return to military service to fight the enemies of the Creed once again.

"I swear upon my House's name that Ghasha will pay for this," Merykus swore. Behind him, the wartrukks opened fire. As the greenskins were just as accurate as a drunk Scorikai, only a few solid slugs bounced off his armor. However, one managed to slip through a space between the psionclas plates, ripping its way through his right shoulder. Fortunately, it completely missed the servomotors in the joint, meaning that he can still use his arm, albeit in a much more diminished state.

Merykus slid into the crater just as gunfire kicked up the dirt around him. In another crater, separated from their Strategon, the five melee-oriented members of the Kerapsim took potshots at the Wartrukks with the swiftstrike pistols they carried with them. They were aided by the six surviving members of the Novicani squad, who owe the Strategon for saving their squad from complete annihilation.

"_Pfrah_, this is a disgrace!" one of the Kerapsim growled. Standing at seven feet and having broad shoulders, he was big for a Methuselon and carried a Pulveron maul. "Strategon Merykus is trapped inside that crater way over there, so close to the Orks, and we're still over here?! Sickening!"

"In no time will we relieve him, Kerapsim-Brother. The Mother of All will protect us," another Kerapsim, a female Methuselon armed with a Rhapsody sword, patiently reassured him. Stealing a peek over the edge of the crater, the captain of the Kerapsim narrowed her eyes when the majority of the enemy, including Ghasha's battlewagon, raced toward the rest of the Methuselon army. The rest of the Ork vehicles, a pair of Killa Kans and a third Wartrukk, were heading toward them. "Of course, we would have to fight those vehicles first, Rhas'lek."

Rhas'lek grunted in derision, hefting his Pulveron onto a shoulder. "Anything else before we start, Maeru?"

Before Maeru could respond, the former Ai'psyte rejoined the group. Ducking into the crater to avoid getting hit, she spoke into the Kerapsim's heads, knowing that she would hardly be heard over the gunfire. _~"There are more Orks inside the four-wheelers."~_

_~"What?"~ _was Maeru's telepathic response.

_~"There are more Orks inside each four-wheeler, about eight per carrier,"~ _The former Ai'psyte, Yenaris, repeated. _~"I can see them through the armor plating covering the rear compartments. They are bigger than the ones who attacked us and are carrying heavy ranged weapons."~_

_~"In that case, some of us can hold off the primitive walkers and transport while the rest aids the Strategon,"~ _A Methuselon male by the name of Tyr'khan suggested. He was armed with a psykonetic discus. _~"I myself volunteer to keep the savage monstrosities at bay!"~_

Rhas'lek grinned at the thought of smashing a Killa Kan to bits. _~"Count me in, too."~_

_~"Cassiopeia wills it,"~ _answered another male Methuselon named Cear'han. Formerly a Juvenile, Cear'han had matured enough to be promoted to a Kerapsim by Merykus, though he kept some of his previous life's mannerisms and costume. He wielded a pair of Erratico pummels. Resembling yo-yos, albeit much more dangerous, these blunt weapons are favored among Juveniles due to their speed and striking power, especially against armored foes. _~"Besides, the Orks are stinking up the battlefield, perhaps even making the Celestial Mother Herself sick."~_

_~"Very well, then,"~ _Maeru nodded in agreement, turning to the remaining Kerapsim. _~"How about you, Jaega?"~_

Jaega shrugged as he tightened his grip on the shaft of his Splinterphase spear._ ~"I, for one, will not let you do all the work, Maeru_."~ Even when using telepathy, Jaega's voice still had a snooty accent, indicating his noble background. _~"After all, you won't be the only one with all the glory, Methuselon-Sister."~_

Ignoring the often condescending Methuselon's remark, Maeru turned to Yenaris._ ~"You know what to do."~_

_~"Take out the machine gunners shooting at the Strategon, unless you have something else in mind..."~_

_~"Actually I have a target I want you to take out first, Yenaris. __ Afterwards, attack any other Ork who poses an immediate threat to Merykus."_"~

_~"Affirmative, Kerapsim-Sister."~_

Turning to the Novicani, Maeru concentrated for a moment, connecting with their minds. _~"I am Maeru Tamunseron, the captain of Strategon Merykus' bodyguard, and we've formulated a plan to aid him."~_ Hearing the voice inside their heads, the Novicani looked around until they met Maeru's gaze. Realizing that it was her, they nodded, signaling that they were awaiting further orders. _~"For the duration of said operation, I assume all command, as stated in the Novicon Codex, under Section 34-7 Sigma. Until such a time comes in which either I or Strategon Merykus releases you, you are to follow my express orders, do I make myself clear?"~_

_~"Yes, Kerapsim-Sister,"~ _they replied in unison.

_~"Good, "~_ Satisfied, Maeru paused before responding, this time to everyone present in the crater. _~"On my mark, Yenaris will kill the machine gunner shooting at us. When the Ork falls, that is when we will strike... "~_

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Incoming hostiles! All units, engage Orks!" Karakon Tyr'hasa barked, pointing at the Ork vehicles rushing toward the army, intent on running them down. Opening fire on the enemy, the Methuselon colonel ducked back behind the charred wreckage of a Wartrukk as the Ork gunners returned fire. "Heavy weapons to the front! Psyon Tanks, get to the front lines now!"

An orange beam was fired from the main gun of Ghasha's battlewagon and a handful of nearby Methuselon, which consisted of six Novicani and three Bladebards, were blasted into smithereens when the beam hit, their pieces falling onto their brothers and sisters. A smoking crater was left in their place.

"Cassiopeia's feet! " Tyr'hasa swore. "I want those Quasar beam cannons firing now! Psyon Tanks, get into position now!"

A few minutes later, a storm of rapidly spinning turquoise beams streaked from the aforementioned anti-tank weapons, impacting the Ork vehicles. Though most of the beams melted their way through the compartments of the Wartrukks, atomizing some of the occupants, a few scored lucky hits on the fuel tanks. Two of the Wartrukks erupted into broiling balls of fire. As the rolling wrecks came to a complete stop, several Orks jumped out of the flaming vehicles, unleashing feral yells of sheer agony as they were burned alive. On one Ork, the fire ignited the rather large bolter rounds strapped across his chest, The resulting explosions ripped him apart, as well as any other Orks who happened to be close-by. The rest of the Orks were either put out of their misery by Novicani gunfire or finally succumbed to the flames consuming their bodies.

The rest of the Wartrukks continued barreling toward the Methuselon, their gunners firing inaccurately at them. Behind them, the three Killa Kans scurried after them, opening fire with their machine guns, as well. Meanwhile, the battlewagon's main gun glowed, readying another shot.

"Cassiopeia's teats...," Tyr'hasa breathed, gritting his teeth. As long as that metal monstrosity is still standing and not burning, it will continue to be a major threat to the army. No matter the costs, it must be brought down.

Suddenly, a large cyan beam erupted from his left, followed by several others. The new beams, easily outdistancing those of the Quasars, smashed into their targets. Two more Wartrukks were blown apart, their surprised occupants flying up into the air in flames. A Killa Kan was eviscerated by two beams. As the single Ork occupant was reduced to nothing more than a blackened lump of goo, the walker stood there like a makeshift statue with a scorched, melting hole on its front. Three remaining beams tore into the battlewagon, killing a handful of Orks. One of them ignited the battery supplying the main gun's power, causing the entire turret to erupt into an orange explosion of electricity, heat, and light.

_"Psyon Ring Tank Oridus commencing firing sequence loop. Charging main weapon. Targeting new hardpoint..."_

Turning to the source of the synthetic voice, Tyr'hasa couldn't help but to smile. Mounted on a saucer-shaped skimmer body, a Psyon Ring Tank uses a large psionclas ring mounted on a turret in the place of a conventional main cannon, hence its name. Already, streamers of cyan energy were converging onto a highly unstable energy mass in the center of the ring.

Tyr'hasa blinked when the Psyon fired again. Though the battlewagon suffered far less damage than with the first barrage, the beam tore off a chunk off the saw-tipped crane, causing the whole thing to collapse before ripping itself free of the remaining part. Another beam from a second Psyon blew up another Kan, turning it into a pile of molten slag.

"_**Wot da zog?!" **_Ghasha raged at the amount of damage his precious battlewagon was sustaining. _**"How cud ya let 'em do dis to 'er, Gork and Mork?! Oh, dats it... WAAUGH!"**_

The next audible chop of his battleaxe was for an Ork who was unlucky enough to be his scapegoat.

"_**GET DEM, GET DEM NOW! KRUSH DEM UNDA DA DEFFROLLA! HURRY UP 'N GRIND DESE PONCY GITS TA A PASTE OR I'LL FROW YER OUTSIDE FOR DEM TA DAKKA!"**_

Immediately, the battlewagon zoomed forward, propelled by the thrusters at its rear, soaking up damage from the Psyon Tanks. Just as Tyr'hasa was about to respond, a new commotion erupted from his right. Though heavily damaged by the quasar beam cannons, the Wartrukks were in no way hindered as they barged through the wreckage, running over any Methuselon who got in their way. One of the Wartrukks ran into an Ares Bot, only to be stopped with a jolt when the heavy autonomous machine remained standing, being pushed back a few meters instead. With a sideway slash of its Severstar, the Ares pierced through the cab of the Wartrukk, severing its driver.

However, the machine gunner fired ruthlessly into the combat robot's face at point blank range. Even at this range, the Ork couldn't miss and the optical sensors of the Ares were utterly destroyed. As the Ares groped blindly for its foe, more Orks leaped out of the Wartrukk's rear, armed with heavy weapons reminiscent of heavy bolters. Before the Ares could react, some of the Flash Gitz opened fire on the robot. Despite being as durable as an Assault Terminator, the Ares was torn to pieces by the heavy rounds.

As the Flash Gitz began spraying the Methuselon, 'killing' scores of them in the punishing barrage, the last Killa Kan was busy engaging the Bladebards and Ares Bots in melee, its spiky surface riddled with molten holes from the Quasars. 'Killing' three Bladebards with a swipe of its circular saw, the Kan bathed five others in burning liquid. However, as they were unharmed by the flames, the aflame Bladebards threw themselves at the walker's vision slit in an attempt to stab their Rhapsody swords through the small opening, trying to kill the Ork inside. Attempting to brush them off with its free claw, the Kan fell onto its back when an Ares cut off its right leg. The Ork inside fought furiously to keep the Methuselon away, even firing his machine gun wildly. However, a Severstar claymore lopped off the Killa Kan's frontal armor and the Bladebards set upon the panicking Ork like wolves attacking a deer. The Ork's screams echoed throughout the battlefield as he was stabbed countless times.

Meanwhile, as the Flash Gitz of both Wartrukks continued shooting at the Methuselon from the safety of cover, they were steadily cut down by bursts of Swiftstrike fire intermingled with that of the Starshred heavy machine guns, the latter's sprays of energy needles causing massive internal damage to any greenskins they hit.

Swearing, Tyr'hasa ducked back into cover as the heavy guns of the battlewagon fired on his soldiers, getting closer by the second. Despite taking the blunt of Psyon fire, the monstrosity continued its headlong rush toward the Methuselon lines, heading straight for him.

When the battlewagon got close enough, the Novicani threw their Solarix grenades at it, propelling the anti-tank explosives far using their machine strength. The Solarix latched onto the front of the battlewagon moments before exploding into mini-novas, sending out pulses of crimson-colored, superheated plasma that blasted molten metal everywhere. However, the battlewagon showed no signs of stopping.

"All units, scatter!" Tyr'hasa yelled before diving out of the path of the battlewagon moments before it ran into the nearest Psyon Tank, tearing through it effortlessly. As the scattered pieces of the autonomous tank rained down on the Methuselon, the battlewagon plowed through the army, crushing those who weren't fast enough to get out of its way. Its guns continued to pour heavy slugs into the Methuselon's ranks, destroying a few of them.

Watching the battlewagon wreak havoc on the army, Tyr'hasa became worried. The Strategon was nowhere to be found, with his bodyguard fighting the smaller group of enemies in the distance, several large Orks armed with heavy weapons were attacking from within the army itself and there was a massive machine wadding through the ranks, 'killing' Methuselon left and right.

"_Oh, Mother," _he silently prayed. _"If you are listening to me and has pity on our plight, please aid us, for we are in great distress."_

'''''''''''''''''

"Smash into this, Ork!" Rhas'lek bellowed, swinging his Pulveron straight at the charging Wartrukk. Despite the violent death of his comrade, the headless machine gunner who's still slumping over the edge of his nest, the Ork driver's demeanor was one of bloodthirsty glee.

"Yer gonna ta be squig'sh loike a leetle grot, poncy boyz!" he spat, smashing harder on the gas pedal. The Wartrukk jolted forward, heading straight for the trio of Methuselon.

"That's my liiiiiine!" was all Rhas'lek yelled before his huge hammer slammed into the front grille of the Ork vehicle. The thing about a Pulveron maul is that it hits with a force equal to that exerted by the object its hits, plus Rhas'lek's own strength. This means that the weapon inflicts more damage on a target charging straight at him than a target at rest, using said target's own momentum to cause severe damage.

The Ork driver never knew what hit him when his Wartrukk folded in on itself like an accordion. He didn't even have time to realize that he was in danger when he was crushed to death within his cab, blood spraying out of his mouth. A split second later, the Wartrukk was pushed back a few feet as Rhas'lek completed his swing.

"Hah, and I thought Orks were just stupid," Cear'han quipped, shaking his head. "They're _hopelessly _stupid."

"Good," Tyr'khan nodded, readying his psykonetic discus when he saw the back hatch of the Wartrukk dropped open. Several Flash Gitz poured out of the vehicle, looking for those responsible for interrupting their joyride. "Now, let us go and purge these monsters. I no longer have a stomach, yet their ugliness makes me sick."

Wordlessly, the three Methuselon charged forward, channeling energy into their legs to run faster. When the nearest of the Flash Gitz saw them, he turned and raised his heavy bolter to fire. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a psykonetic discus ricocheted off the side of the Wartrukk and sliced through him, as well as three others beside him.

Feeling as gleeful now as he had felt during his early career as a Juvenile, Cear'han grinned when two Flash Gitz leveled their weapons at him. As they opened fire, Cear'han weaved through the gunfire with insulting ease. Performing a dizzying array of acrobatics, Cear'han cartwheeled, rolled, flipped, pirouetted, and feinted his way closer to the Flash Gitz, pleased to see the amount of frustration and rage building up on their faces at not even touching him with their erratic shots.

It is far easier to stab a Turanek in the heart with a dagger than to hit even a former Juvenile with a ranged weapon, especially at close range.

When he got closer, Cear'han dropped into a split, swinging both of his Erraticos in an upward arc at the same time. The two blunt weapons caught one of the Orks at the base of his throat, crushing his larynx. The blow pushed the Flash Git backward, causing him to bump into his comrade before falling to the ground, choking to death on the crushed cartilage.

As the other Flash Git raised his weapon at Cear'han again, Cear'han bent over quickly and spun on his head, his two weapons circling his body. One Erratico knocked the heavy bolter out of the Flash Git's hands and the other smashed into his temple, killing him instantly. Flipping back onto his feet, Cear'han winded back up his weapons before running off to find more Orks to kill.

With a roar, Rhas'lek brought his Pulveron down on an Ork's head. The long-handled weapon hit with so much force that the Ork's head was literally shoved into his torso. Channeling a bit of energy into a free arm, Rhas'lek lifted the still standing greenskin corpse and ran toward the two surviving Orks, using their comrade as a meat shield as they prepared to fire. Without so much as a hint of fury at the loss of their comrade, the trigger happy Orks opened fire, caring only about hitting the large Methuselon hiding behind the dead Ork.

"Typical of Orks," Rhas'lek muttered as he closed with the Flash Gitz.

With a forceful shove, he pushed the Ork's corpse into one of the Orks, knocking him down. Channeling more energy into his armor, Rhas'lek whirred around with his Pulveron, knocking the second Flash Git's head to the side, causing his neck to bend at an unnatural angle. With a second swing, the Ork was knocked away.

Suddenly, a storm of heavy objects hammered into his back. Turning slowly around, Rhas'lek couldn't help but to grin at the remaining Ork. Having just gotten up, the panicking Flash Git was unloading every bolter round he had onto him. Fortunately, the channeled psychic energy was fortifying Rhas'lek's psionclas armor and the only thing the rounds were doing were scratching up the polish. After a few minutes, the heavy bolter ran dry, much to the Flash Git's horror.

_*Click.* *Click.*_

With a swing of his heavy weapon, Rhas'lek knocked the weapon out of the Ork's hands.

"Pleeze don 'urt me!" he pleaded, holding his hands out in surrender. "Weez waz just jokin' wit ya! Weez just wantid ta see 'ow tuff yer an' yer boyz were. Yer dead'ard an' reely killy!"

"I'll take that as a compliment, Ork," Rhas'lek grunted, grinning like a fierce beast.

"So, um... doz dis means dat I can go 'ome now?" The Flash Git asked, looking at Rhas'lek expectantly.

"If by 'home', you mean 'massive bonfire', then you may leave, Ork."

" 'OORAH... um, wot's a bonf-" the Flash Git didn't get to finish his question when Rhas'lek smashed his Pulveron into his chest, breaking most of his ribs. With a second swing, the Ork was knocked into the air, falling into a lifeless heap.

Walking up to Rhas'lek's side, Cear'han couldn't help but to whistle. "If only defeating the savages' walkers was this easy..." he mused.

"There is nothing that my Pulveron cannot smash to bits, " Rhas'lek growled softly as he turned to face the pair of Killa Kans approaching. About two thirds the height of a Principali, they had just caught up with the Wartrukk and were currently shooting at Tyr'khan, the smaller caliber rounds bouncing off his body. Using his psykonetic discus, he was luring them toward a steep hill.

"I suppose that we get this over with so that we can fight some more Orks," Cear'han finally said as he started after Tyr'khan. "The Celestial Mother is with us this day! We will soon win against these Orks!"

"As well as against everything else in this Mother-forsaken galaxy," Rhas'lek mumbled as he ran after him.

''''''''''''''''''

After around twenty minutes of riding around the crater where Merykus was pinned, taking potshots of the Strategon, the two Wartrukks finally rolled to a stop. Immediately, their rear hatches dropped open and two large groups of Orks consisting of Lootaz and Slugga Boyz, along with a few Shoota Boyz, moved in to circle the crater as they were encouraged onward by their respective Nobz. Of course, in Ork kulture, this sort of 'encouragement' entailed shouting into ears, a kick here and there, and a few slaps in the back of the head that can snap a human's neck.

Once the Orks surrounded the crater and looked inside, they became confused. Surely there was a strange alien inside this crater a moment ago? In his place, there was a mound of dirt. After a few seconds, the mound shifted noticeable. Immediately, the Orks opened fire on the mound, kicking up great spurts of dirt. Even the Slugga Boyz, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, attacked with their shootas. A few sparks flashed here and there but everything else was hidden by the suspended dust. Finally, the Orks stopped shooting.

As the dust cleared, the mound, previously over a meter high, was noticeable flatter, forming into the silhouette of a crouching, still figure.

"Loike shootin' 'umies in a barrel," one Ork chuckled darkly.

"Wot a waste ov gud bulletz!" a Loota spat.

"Can weez go fight sumfin' dat fights bak?" one Ork asked his Nob.

Suddenly, the mound erupted, showering the surprised Orks in dust. A figure emerged, dressed in a blue aristocratic military uniform and wearing a sort of semi-circular hat that ran lengthwise down his scalp. Before the Orks could respond, a bright light flashed out of the person's eyes. Immediately, the Orks dropped their weapons and screamed, clutching their eyes as they bumped into each other, blinded by the attack.

With a huge smile on his psychomeld face, Merykus twirled his ultimo glaive above his head and launched himself at the Orks like a Tyranid Warrior setting upon a herd of Grox. Minutes ago, he tapped into the Orks' minds and saw that they would first attempt to shoot him up from afar before coming in for the kill. Knowing that their weapons won't penetrate his psionclas cuirass, Merykus dug into the base of the crater, burying himself underneath the charred soil, and lay in wait for the foolish Orks to step into the snare...

The very air was saturated with millions of blood droplets as Merykus flashed from Ork to Ork, cutting into them as if they were made of air. His ultimo glaive, having the passive ability to increase his speed and striking power, sliced through the Orks' sorry excuses for body armor. The supersonic weapon blurred from place to place, the Orks unable to track it with their eyes before being sliced into bloody pieces.

Behind Merykus, a Shoota Boy armed with a bigga shoota leveled the large gun at the Strategon. He was about to pull the trigger when a Rhapsody sword flashed from side to side, breezing through his body many times. Twirling the sword around before sheathing it, Maeru stepped around the Shoota Boy, who gave her a blank, unblinking stare as she went up to meet Merykus, his weapon still raised. A slight breeze knocked the Ork over, causing him to fall into a pile of neatly cut slices.

As the Orks were being killed, some ruthlessly put down by Yenaris, the Wartrukks rumbled to action. The machine gunner in the nearest Wartrukk swiveled his weapon toward Merykus. Suddenly, spears of white light stabbed into him and the driver, killing them instantly. The spears then vanished from the cauterized wounds and reappeared as one weapon in the hands of a Methuselon in the distance, a Methuselon who gave off an aristocratic air of condescendence.

"This is totally boring. I wish that there were at least smarter enemies to fight," Jaega grumbled as he attempted to spit on the ground, only to remember that he longer has an organic body with a mouth to produce salvia. With a sigh, he ran to meet up with Maeru. Something appeared in the corner of his eye and Jaega stopped to look. For a few seconds, he looked at what appeared to be a barely recognizable humanoid in the distance. It seemed to be slimmer than an Ork and carried some sort of ellipsoid backpack that stretched beyond its shoulders. As suddenly as Jaega saw it, the humanoid disappeared in a bright flash of light, vanishing without a trace.

Blinking in confusion, Jaega shook his head violently as he tried to make sense of what he just saw. "Maybe the Orks' stupidity are rubbing off on me," he mumbled distastefully, running off to meet Merykus and Maeru.

''''''''''''''''''''

On a crumbling section of the Ork settlement's wall, the humanoid, having just reappeared, continued to watch the strange aliens as they fought the Orks. Wearing wraithbone armor that was colored in shades of green and white, the figure ran many thoughts through its head, trying to wrap its fingers around who these people were. Surely its leaders would want to know, as well.

"Let's see if these visitors are better or worse than the mon-keigh, " the Warp Spider muttered, his voice intermingled with the whooshes of warp energies.

''''''''''''''''''''

Cutting down the last of the Ork attackers, Merykus felt a presence behind him. Turning, he was a bit surprised to find that it was Maeru, with Jaega arriving a few minutes later. He was about to greet them when the remaining Wartrukk opened fire. The rounds deflecting off his body, Merykus build up increasing amount of psychic energy, levitating off the ground. When he rose about six feet off the ground, he thrust his glaive toward the Wartrukk. In a few seconds, there was a massive swoosh moments before a brief silence reigned in the surrounding area.

Seconds later, a powerful beam erupted from the tip of his weapon, slamming into the Wartrukk. If one thought that a Psyon Tank can do horrific things to a Wartrukk with its weapon, that person would be gravely mistaken.

Like an orange ripped being opened with bare hands, the Wartrukk was split apart, disemboweled by the powerful attack. In fact, the force of the explosion flattened the vehicle, crushing any of the driver and machine gunner's remains that weren't burned up.

Landing in the ground, Merykus turned to face Maeru and Jaega. "Well, " he was saying, smirking. "Looks like you missed the fun."

Maeru wiped a drop of Ork blood off her leg with a finger and bend down to wipe it on the ground. "Well, we were just thinking that we'd stop by for dessert," she replied.

"Yeah, those Ork buggers are good enough dead than alive," Jaega added, looking as if he'd rather be somewhere else.

"So," Merykus asked, his question directed to Maeru. "Where's the Warboss?"

Maeru pointed toward the rest of the army. The Battlewagon were still attacking the Methuselon, though its movement became increasing jerky as if its wheels were being damaged.

Merykus pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in consternation. "Well, I'd better deal with Ghasha before the army routs. Gather the others and rendezvous with me at that... monstrosity." Without waiting for a response, Merykus ran full tilt toward his army, leaving Maeru and Jaega to rejoin the others.

''''''''''''''''''

On the steep hill, the three Kerapsim battled the last Killa Kan, which was missing its saw arm and was furiously trying to destroy its attackers. Being careful not to hit the Kerapsim, the Novicani were shooting at the Ork battle walker from a safe distance, eager to avenge the permanent 'deaths' of their comrades. At the base of the hill lay the first Killa Kan, its pieces scattered all around the cylindrical body of the machine. A huge molten hole in the Kan's frontal armor, courtesy of a Solarix grenade, exposed the half incinerated Ork inside to the open world.

"Too slow!" Cear'han teased as he backflipped into the air, narrowly dodging a claw grab from the Killa Kan. Spinning on the ball of his right foot, Cear'han whacked the side of the walker with an Erratico, creating a dent in the rusting material.

_**"I'm gonna get yer for dat, yer pain 'n da arse!"**_ the Ork inside the Killa Kan thundered, attempting to crush Cear'han with the remaining arm. The former Juvenile simply slid to the side, dodging the slam. _**"Just wait 'till I grab ya! I'm gonna make ya squeal loike a squig caught unda da Boss' feet, just yer wait!"**_

"You would have to catch me first!" Cear'han yelled. Roaring with fury, the Killa Kan spewed a glob of flaming liquid from its flamer. Just as Cear'han jumped out the way to avoid the flames, Tyr'khan threw his psykonetic discus, severing the Kan's remaining arm. Before the Ork could respond, Cear'han twirled his Erraticos around his Kan's legs, the strings strong enough to withstand blows from chain weapons. As the Killa Kan fought for balance, Rhas'lek leaped into the air and smashed his Pulveron into its front, knocking it onto its back. As the machine began to roll downhill, Cear'han phased his Erraticos back into his hands with but a thought as Rhas'lek flinged a live Solarix grenade at the Kan.

"Enjoy your parting gift, Ork," Rhas'lek growled as the grenade sticked onto the Killa Kan just as it picked up speed. A few seconds later, the grenade exploded, blasting the Killa Kan into two pieces that were molten at the edges. The intense heat ignited the gas tank near the rear, turning the Killa Kan into a pair of broiling wreckages as they rolled toward the base of the hill to join the machine's fallen comrade.

"Good fight, brethren, " Tyr'khan said, mounting his discus onto his back. "Now, let's go meet the others."

"There's no need," Cear'han pointing at Maeru and Jaega, who were running toward them. Seconds later, Yenaris arrived, her Deathblink strapped across her back.

"So, where's Strategon Merykus?" Rhas'lek asked Maeru when she finally arrived.

Maeru turned her head in the direction of the army. "He went back to aid our brethren, as the Ork Warboss is driving his infernal machine through the army's ranks."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's back him up!"

"Very well, let's move, " Turning to the Novicani, she added, "As for you, you have performed bravely this day and have helped rescued the Strategon. Therefore, I hereby release you from temporal commandeering."

However, the Novicani weren't ready to be released yet. "We have no immediate leader to guide us," one of them, a male Methuselon, spoke for the squad. "Please direct us, Kerapsim-Sister, and we shall avenge our fallen brothers and sisters today."

Taking the Novicani's words in, Maeru finally relented. Thrusting her Rhapsody sword into the air, she shouted, "Very well then, follow me into battle!"

With a battle shout, the four Kerapsim and six Novicani charged toward the battle, rushing headlong to fulfill their mission, in the name of the Creed and of the Celestial Mother.

'''''''''''''''''

The battlewagon continued to limp onward, most of its wheels ruined by Solarix grenades, as well as the beams of Quasars and Psyon Tanks. In fact, the entire superheavy vehicle looked more like a huge chuck of metal Swiss cheese, as its surfaces were marred with melted holes. More of its turreted heavy machine guns were destroyed and only a few Orks, including Warboss Ghasha, were still alive. Needless to say, Ghasha was really pissed.

"WAAAUGH, doze poncy, shiny gitz out dere are dakka-tin' da zog outta 'Da Lootin' Wagon'!" he roared, smashing a fist into a panel. The steel plating crumpled underneath the blow. Suddenly, the battlewagon lurched toward the side as yet another Psyon beam slammed into it. Caught off balance by the jolt, Ghasha was pushed into another Ork. The Ork gurgled when a few of the spikes that decorated Ghasha's helmet like a crown pierced his throat, Blood sprayed over the Warboss's body.

Shoving the dying Ork away, Ghasha stood to his feet. "Boyz 'n da top, status reporta!" he bellowed, unconcerned about the fact that he'd accidentally killed one of his Orks. Ghasha was very callous for an Ork, with many of his boyz dying by his hands as well as by those of his enemies.

"Boss!" replied an Ork, calling down a tube that led down to the command room. "Wun ov da gits' ring-loike fingys dakka'd a 'ole 'n da side ov da Wagon. Only a reely fin piece ov arma cuvaz da tank ov juice. Wun moar shot dere an' we're be all burny an' stuff! Weez also runnin' low on juice for da thrustas, too."

As much as he'd hated to leave so much precious loot behind, even Ghasha knew that if he and his remaining boyz are to survive for yet another day, he must fall back and recoup his losses. Though many Ork Klans would frown upon him for such a move, seeing it as 'unOrky', Ghasha wanted to stay alive so that he can continue looting and pillaging. Besides, as the age-old Ork rhetoric states, '_Itz not unOrky ta run away if wun can always come bak for anutha go, ya see_'.

"Alroight, boyz!" Ghasha finally said, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Turn dis fing around an' let's go bak ta da camp! We'll stomp dese gitz later!"

At first, the remaining Orks protested, as they still wanted to fight. However, only when Ghasha have thrown a particularly mouthy Ork out of the window to be shot up by the Methuselon did they decided that it was best to obey the Warboss. The battlewagon turned and headed in the direction of the hills west of the settlement, to where the hill clans lived.

No further had the battlewagon gone for as least eighteen meters when a psychic beam slammed into one of the wheels near the death roller. Unable to take the strain of the attacks, as well as the immerse weight of the battlewagon anymore, the wheel finally broke off. Suddenly burdened by the increased weight, the corresponding wheel on the other side of the vehicle also dislodged. The death roller held the weight for a few seconds before breaking off, causing the front end of the battlewagon to drive itself into the ground. As the battlewagon slowly grinded to a stop, a Quasar beam bored through one of the thrusters, igniting the gas tank inside and creating a chain reaction among the other thrusters. The resulting explosions blew a third of the battlewagon to pieces, slaying any Ork who happened to be there at that moment.

Shaking himself to attention, Ghasha coughed in the smoke-filled air, sneezing on a clump of dust. Grunting, Ghasha propped himself on his battleaxe as he slowly rose to his feet. A shower of sparks sprayed into the room with a loud _*pop* _but he ignored it. Turning to look numbly at a large jagged scrap of metal jutting into his side, Ghasha reached over and ripped it off without so much of a painful grunt and tossed it away. Hefting his battleaxe, Ghasha was about to leave the room when he heard fighting above him. The sound of a blade breaking the sound barrier sent a _*crack* _down the communication tubes as Orks died screaming, soundly defeated by an unknown attacker. Clenching his battleaxe in giddy anticipation, Ghasha waited for a few minutes until the last Ork fell silent.

Suddenly, a lithe figure dropped down from a hatch and landed on the steel floor with a _*clank*. _Getting a good look at the newcomer, the Warboss chuckled in derision. "Ha, I knew dat yer gitz were reely poncy when I set me eyes on ya! Howevah, youz seemed ta be reely killy yerself. On top ov everyfing, yer wearin' _blue_! Blue is a lucky colah, Mork says."

"Before I send your soul flying back to whichever heathen gods you worship, Ork," Merykus said, readying into a combat stance. "Tell me what other Ork clans are nearby and what are their numbers."

Hacking up, Ghasha spat a large glob of salvia to the side, causing Merykus to raise an eyebrow. "Da only fing I'm tellin' ya," he growled, getting into a combat stance. "Is dat dere's plenty ov boyz to stomp yer 'umies, Eldar, blueskins, metal boyz, or whatevah da zog yer gitz are ta a paste. Now, aftah I kill ya, dat blue gear yer wearin' is mine!"

Smirking, Merykus ran his fingers through his uniform. "If you want this, come and try to take it, Ork."

Ghasha chuckled darkly. _"Take it?!" _he asked incredulously. "Don't yer get it? I'm a zoggin' Deffskull! Takin' fings dat is not mine- no, takin' fings dat's _already_ mine is my speshulty, WAAAUGH!" With a battle cry, Ghasha charged toward Merykus, his great battleaxe raised over his head.

With a derisive scoffed, Merykus bolted toward Ghasha and, within seconds, the two combatants clashed with each other, their weapons clashing together in a series of blows.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Greenskin target liquidated," Yenaris muttered to herself. About twenty-three meters in front of her, the Flash Git laid on the charred ground, his blood and brains leaking through a large hole in his head. Immediately, the other Flash Gitz returned fire. Yenaris rolled side to side to avoid getting hit and then fired an impromptu shot. Though the shot wasn't fatal, the unlucky Flash Git roared in agony and fury when the psybullet ripped through his wrist, nearly severing it. The appendage hung onto the rest of the arm by a band of skin and tendons. Getting into cover, the Ork screamed louder when he ripped the dangling hand free before tossing it to the side. Holding his heavy bolter with one hand as best as he could, he was just leaning out of cover to shoot when his head disappeared in a pink mist, ending that notion permanently.

"Peek-a-boo, I 'see' you. You; however, see only your death," Yenaris muttered again. Rolling behind the body of a long dead Nob, Yenaris activated the ellipsoid device attached to her right ear. "I now have the greenskins' full attention," she reported, speaking into the device. "Tis safe to move in for the kill."

"Affirmative, Yenaris," Maeru replied, speaking into a similar device. "Maintain current aggro, logging out."

In front of her were around six remaining Flash Gitz. Though the near constant firefight with the Methuselon had thinned their numbers, the large greenskins were still a threat, especially since the landing party didn't have any contingent of Cerebromancers, Juveniles, or artillery support due to the Fhaelokon's small carrying capacity.

Maeru turned toward the Novicani under her temporary command. Each of them were holding a Corona grenade, which combines the infantry-shredding power of a frag grenade with the blinding light of a flash bang. With a nod from her, they twisted the caps of the grenades, priming them.

_~"NOW!"~ _her mind screamed.

Immediately, the Novicani threw their Coronas in the direction of the Flash Gitz. Though some landed a bit off the mark, a few of them landed in the Orks' midst, their audible whining forcing the greenskins to look at them.

Just as the Kerapsim and Novicani have looked away, the grenades exploded into a bright light along with a storm of energy shards. The nearest Orks were cut to ribbons by the shards while those who survived found themselves stumbling around, afflicted by a painful blindness.

"Go now and smite these green devils down, in the Celestial Mother's name!" Maeru shouted, raising her weapon as she ran into the fray. Shouting battle cries, the other Kerapsim close to her followed her. Hearing the cries, the Flash Gitz desperately groped around on the ground, trying to find their weapons. One Flash Git became giddy when he'd finally found his weapon. Unfortunately, as he raised it up to fire, he was mercilessly cut down by Maeru, a look of shock frozen on his face.

The battle was over before it had even started.

''''''''''''''''''

Roaring, Ghasha swinged a horizontal chop in Merykus' direction. Dodging the attack, Merykus attempted a quick lunge, his glaive glancing off the Warboss' thick armor. The thing about an Ultimo glaive is that it's only designed to cut through lightly armored infantry and vehicles with ease. Unfortunately, his larger enemy wore armor that would've gave him a chance to face a Turanek soldier for a long, long time. Basically, Ghasha was literally a walking tank.

Seeing that the Methuselon has overextended himself, already struggling to regain his balance, Ghasha drove a knee into his abdomen. An ordinary, organic foe would've been knocked into two pieces by such a blow. However, as Merykus is stronger now and much more durable than he previously was during the Methuselon Age of Flesh, the attack was merely a jolting interruption. With a yell, Merykus slammed an uppercut into Ghasha's jaw.

Surprised by the power behind the punch, Ghasha shook his head violently. His pause allowed Merykus to lunge again, this time aiming for his eye slits. Deflecting the glaive with the flat of his battleaxe, Ghasha swinged the handle of his weapon, slamming it into Merykus' right shoulder. Merykus grunted in alarm as the blow further aggravated the damage already there. Gingerly switching the glaive over to his left hand, Merykus kept his right arm at his side.

Ghasha; however, noticed the damaged shoulder. "Aw, wot's da mattah?" he said in mock concern. "Yer 'urted yerself in da big fight? Don't worry: I'll fix it up, just loike I'll fix you... for gud."

"You're the one who'll be hurting," Merykus countered, twirling the glaive behind his fingers. "Especially when your heathen gods punish you for '_allowin' a poncy, leetle git ta stomp ya._' "

"I'Z GUNNA STOMP YER FLAT!" Ghasha bellowed in rage as he swing his weapon at Merykus. Dancing around the missed blow, Merykus slammed the butt of his weapon into Ghasha's head. After enduring many cuts from countless weapons over the course of their lives, the squig-leather straps of the helmet snapped apart and the helmet flew off of Ghasha's head, much to his surprise.

Taking advantage of the Warboss' shock, Merykus unleashed a quick slash. Snapping back to his senses, Ghasha moved his head out the way, only to lose his left ear to the vertical slice. Howling in fury and pain, Ghasha reached out and grabbed Merykus' right arm before the Strategon could pull back and, with an almighty yank, ripped it completely from the socket, the pieces scattering everywhere.

As the Methuselon stumbled backward, the Warboss bull-rushed him, bowling into him. Landing on the metal floor with a heavy thud, Merykus struggled frantically to defend himself as Ghasha repeatedly pummeled him with his own arm.

_*Thwack!* *Thwack!* *Thwack!* _

The arm hit with such force that it dented the side of his psychomeld head. All but the ring of hair psylia holding his bicorne to his head waved wildly as he became increasingly stressed out and agitated.

_*Thwack!* *Thwack!* *Clang!*_

Merykus growled in frustration when the Warboss knocked his ultimo glaive out of his hand and clamped a foot down on his chest, pinning his to the floor. With a roar, the Warboss threw the arm to the side and raised his battleaxe with both hands above his head. "Any last wurds before I chop yer 'head 'n 'alf, shine 'ead?" Ghasha implored, a gleam of pride in his eyes.

Calming down, Merykus stunned the Deathskull with a smile. "Hey Ork," he then asked. "Had you ever gotten hair in your eyes?"

Ghasha glowered, not sure of what the Methuselon was implying. "No, an' I don't care, eithah, " he finally side slowly. "Why wud yer axe me such a stoopid queshun?"

Merykus managed a shrug with his good arm. "Oh nothing, I just wanted to know whether it felt something... LIKE THIS!" Suddenly, his hair psylia shot forward as a pair of thick strands that quickly narrowed into sharp points, plunging into Ghasha's red eyes.

"**GWUHWAUWAUWAAAUGH!" **Ghasha bellowed in sheer agony as he pulled out the hair psylia gouging into his eyes.

The moment Ghasha removed his foot, Merykus kipped up, leaping back in time to dodge a slash as the blinded Warboss wildly swinged his battleaxe in a vain attempt to catch him. Holding out his palm, Merykus concentrated, willing the ultimo glaive back to him. In a few seconds, the weapon flew from where it lay and returned to him. Grabbing the glaive, Merykus looked at the Warboss as he stumbled his way blindly toward him.

"You will burn real nicely, Ork, along with all of your boyz," Merykus quipped, twirling the lightweight glaive as the Warboss got closer. His hair psylia was dripping with the Ork's blood and humorous fluid. "When Gork and Mork feels your misbegotten kind burn, they will know that, in the end, Cassiopeia will be coming for them, too." Having said that, Merykus timed the Warboss' erratic swings before leaping at him, ending it once and for all with a decapitating slice.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

On a cliff overlooking the Ork settlement, a lone figure stood. Wearing long flowing robes in shades of forest green and bone white, the figure continued to watch the medley of strange aliens as they constructed sprawling military complexes. On the breastplate of the individual was a rune that resembled an ankh with half of its head cut off and a heart inserted into the space between the two remaining ends. It was a symbol of rebirth. A green circlet of wraithbone crowned her head of silver hair. The strangers' ships continued to land on the planet, unloading supplies and additional troops before ferrying the dead back to the fleets guarding the planet. The occasional gunfire in the depths of the settlement revealed pockets of Orkoid resistance.

Suddenly, the air next to the figure shimmered for a few seconds before erupting into a near-silent flash of light, leaving a Warp Spider in its wake. The Aspect warrior wore the same color theme as the figure.

"Farseer, I've come to give my report concerning the newcomers, " he spoke. It was the same Warp Spider that Jaega caught a glimpse of, the very same who was spying on the aliens.

For a moment, the Farseer was silent. Finally, she spoke, keeping her eyes on the aliens, particularly the machines that were cladded in blue and black, being dressed so strangely for an army of robots, "Many cycles ago, I'd often had dreams concerning Farseer Haylathe's prediction about the coming of 'the children of old', as he puts it. He predicts that they would strongly affect the Mon-keigh Imperium and all others in ways physical weapons cannot."

"Do you mean via psychic means or though their belief systems?" the Warp Spider asked.

"Possibly either one or both," Turning to face the Warp Spider, the Farseer continued, "The strangest thing is that he speaks of them as if they'd once traveled this galaxy, as if they existed during the time of the Old Ones."

Pausing to breath in the fresh air, the Farseer then asked, "So, what have you learned so far about the aliens?"

"The aliens seemed to be united, at the very least," the Warp Spider reported. "One of them is a race of filthy, savage reptilians who appeared to be more sane, if not any less bloodthirsty, than the Orks. The next race of aliens are far more numerous and appeared to be rodent-like in appearance. Their armor and vehicles leaves little in the way of decoration and markings."

"Go now," the Farseer nodded as she took in the information.

"The third race of aliens seemed to be a strange, all-female race of humanoid plant life. They seemed to have great skill in agriculture and terraforming. Even their buildings are grown like plants. It's as if Isha herself is secretly guiding their hands from within the foul Plague God's cabin."

Nodding, the Farseer urged him onward. "And what of the army of machines? They're too cooperative with the other races to be the Necrons."

The Warp Spider took in a deep breath. "The machines are indeed the strangest of the four races. I've been tracking their movements for hours, even eavesdropping on their conversations, and I've arrived to the conclusion that they are, in fact, sentient."

The Farseer raised an eyebrow. "Sentient, you don't say... " she trailed off, interested.

"I know that it sounds like something from a mon-keigh techpriest's delusional mind but the machines _are_ sentient. I'd even overheard snippets of their conversations in Low Gothic. They speak of someone called 'the Celestial Mother'.

The Farseer turned to face the sentient machines again. The fact that they can speak Low Gothic means that they have been in the Milky Way galaxy for a long time, unseen by anyone else until today.

"_Or they've been outside the galaxy, watching the mon-keigh for a long time as well as learning their language...," _a part of herself thought.

The Warp Spider cocked his head to the side. "These aliens could have an agenda that could possibly stand in the way of the Rebirth of the Eldar, Farseer," he finally said. "What plans do you have concerning them?"

After remaining silent for a moment, the Farseer answered. "So far, I have predicted that they pose no immediate threat to our race. Also, as they are antagonistic toward the Orks, they could very well be of good use as future allies when we fight the green tide. We of Craftworld Biel-tan aids those who fights the greenskins. Also, there may be opportunities in which their capabilities can be very... useful to our own agenda, regardless of how much they suffer in the process."

"However, if they proved to be a threat to our people, the Rebirth itself, or to the Maiden Worlds our ancestors left behind, these aliens can be completely sure that we'll wipe the lot of them from this galaxy."

"What will happen if they realize they're being used?" the Warp Spider asked.

With a smirk, the Farseer continued to look down on the aliens, scoffing at them in derision and condescendence.

"Then we'll deal with them severely if they proved to be just as stubborn as the humans. Our ancestors once owned the stars, weaving the fates of countless lifeforms and civilizations in their hands. Because of that, I'd rather die and join my ancestors in the Infinity Circuit than to allow a coalition of strangers ruin everything we'd sought to restore."


	4. Chapter 3: Five Against the Horde, Pt 1

**Disclaimer: I own none of the works belonging to the author(s), owner company, and game designer(s) of the Warhammer 40K game series or books, neither do I own any of the characters, units, races, and places inside said media, save for those imagined and created by me.**

**Author's Note: Hi readers and thank you so much for being interested in this story. I also especially want to thank those who added this to their favorites. Though there is not that much action in this chapter, as I am only setting up the scene, there will be plenty of action in the next chapter, I promise. Review or PM me if you have any questions or comments. Enjoy!**

**P.S.: In case you're confused, the coordinates that Ioner'hes are inputting are easy to understand, as the estate are the origin and the coordinates shows direction and number of meters. For example, N-23, E-10 means 23 meters north of the estate and 10 meters east of that point.**

**Chapter 3: Five Against the Horde, Part 1**

_"Oy boss, dese pointy-eared gitz look loike da Eldar, yet dey's as shiny as dose freaky metal boyz. I bet ya dat dere just as poncy, too. Let's go stump dem an' da humies too! This is gunna ta be an easy foight!"- unknown Slugga Boy, his last words._

**Eastern Fringe, five years later...**

For the past few years, Orminus Turbinon has been steadily moving from one planet to another, building outposts and research facilities, as well as military bases. However, the Army of the Storm, as it was called in Low Gothic, only came across either barren or uninhabited worlds, as the galactic eastern part of the Milky Way was mostly wilderness space. For a long, long time, the Methuselon and their allies have not encounter any planet inhabited by the God-Emperor-worshipping aliens or any other alien civilization.

Of course, that was before they discovered this planet.

Sitting forward in the commander's chair aboard the flagship _Cassiopeia's Rod, _Ioner'hes propped her head onto her hands as she studied the vidscreens displaying the planet's surface. Though arid terrain covered most of the planet's surface, huge spots of dark green vegetation grew around lakes and seas near the southern pole. Ordering the vidscreen AI to magnify the images, Ioner'hes smirked slightly when she saw rows upon rows of trenches funneling water from the bodies of water and further inland.

"_Irrigation ditches, " _she thought.

Turning to her remote reconnaissance officers, she finally spoke, "Drop a few probes onto the planet."

"Affirmative, Strategon-Sister," one of the Methuselon acknowledged before pressing a few buttons and finally pulling a lever. A trio of barely noticeable lurches was sensed by Ioner'hes as three spherical probes were launched. Sitting back in her seat, Ioner'hes watched as the probes glowed a bright red as they entered the atmosphere. In her mind, she imagined them throwing off their spherical heat shields once they enter the stratosphere. Actually being drones specifically made for the task of scouting the entire planet, the probes will fly over its surfaces, their gravity-manipulator envelopes propelling them at speeds reaching up to two hundred and fifty-eight kilometers per hour. The probes would then take pictures of the surface at four hundred frames per second as they flew around the world unless they are instructed to concentrate on a certain area, such as a military base. A detailed view of the entire planet can be completed in a few hours.

After such a task was completed, Ioner'hes zeroed in on a cluster of holographic moving pictures that caught her interest. Reaching out to them mentally, she brought the holopics closer to her and began shifting through them. Though the architecture were alien to her, there were no mistaking the crenellations and thick stone towers of the buildings in the holopics. These were pictures of castles and citadels, complete with the coat of arms and regalia of the ruling families of each respective keep. The closest castle were right below the coalition fleet, its coat of arms depicting a golden serpentine creature on a striped field of blue and green.

Ordering one of the recon officers to direct one of the probes toward the castle's location, Ioner'hes smiled warmly when she saw the inhabitants in the surrounding city more clearly. Varying in skin tones as well as in shapes and sizes, they clearly belonged to the same species as the alien soldiers who fought the Orks in the briefing video, the very same aliens who venerated the God-Emperor.

However, something was off about these aliens.

Though their clothing were understandable strange, they seemed to be a bit different from the soldiers she saw, with their accents and dialects. Even the soldiers patrolling the alleys of the castle wore a completely different garb, ranging from chain mail to plated armor. Lastly but not least, they were carrying all manner of bladed weapons and polearms, as well as a few blunt weapons, very unlike the advanced beam weapons the aliens used on the Orks.

"Perhaps this planet had been abandoned and left to degenerate to a backward state," she deduced.

Standing behind her was none other than Hierophant Mord'caia, who stared intently at the holopics. In addition to the robe and ceremonial dress befitting her station, Mord'caia also has an ornamented ring-like device attached to the small power pack strapped to her back. Known as a D'hatellean Halo, this device permeates a large area around the wearer in a psychic aura of tranquility when activated, causing even the most zealous and hateful of sentient beings to at least calm down enough to be reasoned with, making it a vital tool during negotiations, evangelism, and diplomacy. Of course, any would-be listener can resist the halo's effect if he or she held enough contempt and hatred for the wearer and his/her race, plus the halo is useless against the soulless. Moreover, there are rumors that the D'hatellean Halo has the completely opposite effect on the legions of the Mephistorum, making them hate the wearer with even more vehemence and fury.

"All the more to be both optimistic and wary," she finally said. "Though we will definitely be looked upon as angels, these souls may still be slaves to ignorable superstitions and outdated beliefs. We must be on our guard just in case they decide that it's a good idea to hang a host of 'demons and witches' descending from the skies."

"A complete waste of potential converts it will be if things got bloody," Ioner'hes sighed softly.

A smile spread across Mord'caia's face. "On the plus side, we do have a chance to win the people over, though the typical diehards will still protest our arrival. Better to win the majority over than only a handful."

Turning her head to look at Mord'caia, Ioner'hes returned the smile. "In that case, I have an idea."

Mord'caia raised an eyebrow. "May I ask what do you have in mind?"

Turning her attention back to the holopics, Ioner'hes studied the castles and their people, her eyes trailing over the primitive weapons their warriors held. "When words alone can only go so far," she finally said with certainty. "We shall awe them."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**Palace grounds of Baron Haisten III of House Bradioc.**

**29 minutes later...**

In the cool and crisp afternoon, the gardeners were tending to the thin, towering trees that bordered the grounds' eastern and northern edges while groups of soldiers patrolled the nearby streets, cladded in hues of blue and greens, their polished weapons gleaming in the slowing setting sun. On their breastplates was the Markeq Golden-Scaled Dragon, the hereditary symbol of the baron's house. Clanking filled the air as blacksmiths fashioned cooling metal into armor and weapons, their faces slick with sweat and darkened with soot.

On top of the keep overlooking the grounds was Baron Haisten III himself, surrounded by twenty of his best knights. Despite the peaceful air surrounding his estate, his house was currently at war with Dietrich of House Guyston and Fayestia of House Huwester, giving Haisten every reason to make sure that the castle's garrison was well-equipped and fully prepared to take on any besieging force. Near the eastern walls in the distance, groups of engineers were constructing various siege machines capable of launching huge stones and heavy spears over the high walls.

"Sire, I have some dire news!" a feminine voice cut into his thoughts. Turning around, Haiston's eyes fell upon a young woman who seemed to be around his eldest son's age. Wearing decent clothing befitting a courier, she held a rolled up parchment in her hands.

Already anticipating the news, Haisten sighed before finally speaking, "Let me guess: we'd lost the Battle of Frinica River."

"Not only that, my lord, but our enemies have besieged Fort Fraygus," she spoke delicately as if afraid to incur her lord's wrath. "Lord Hendrik has sent me to give you this request."

Taking the parchment from the youth's hands, Haisten opened it up and began reading. With a grunt of frustration, he rolled the parchment back up and turned to look in the distance. "How can he expect me to send a relief force if the rest of my men are spread out elsewhere? We're stretched too thin!"

With a long, tired sigh, Haisten turned back to the young woman. "Tell Lord Hendrik to hold out a bit longer until I can muster enough soldiers," he finally said. "I supposed that we won't suffer too badly if we remove a third of the garrisons from the surrounding..."

Haisten's voice trailed off when a strange humming appeared above him, becoming louder by the second. In fact, it felt as if it was inside his head, creeping at the edges of his mind. Suddenly, something cast a large shadow on the top of the keep, causing him to look up. Struck by awe as well as fear, the young woman clasped her hands together as the knights subconsciously grasped the hilt of their swords, muttering among themselves. Below the group, the gardeners stopped what they were doing to look and even the soldiers halted to join them.

What Haisten saw could not be described in words.

Descending toward the palace grounds was a sleek and massive object made of a material of the likes he'd never seen. Almost about the same length and width as a caravel, the object was almost completely white with a few parts that were black. The object also has red markings with a black symbol in their centers that reminded him of the Everstorm, a huge maelstrom in the middle of the Tempest Sea to the far south, a sort of insignia if he was correct. Next to the symbol was a sort of coat of arms, which depicted an elaborately designed halo around a pale mask with a strange symbol on its forehead. However, what frightened Haisten the most was how quiet the thing was. It was descending onto his property like a nearly silent harbinger of whatever surprises he wouldn't dare contemplate.

When the object dropped below the roof of the keep, Haisten quickly ran for the roof entrance, rushing down the spiraling staircase with the young woman and his knights in tow. As they descended, the walls seemed to vibrate as the humming outside reached the interior of the keep, softly echoing throughout the structure. After a few minutes of running, the group finally ran outside just as the object hovered just a few feet off the ground. A few minutes later, the front part of the object divided into four parts that opened outward like a flower and a sort of circular door at the very center widened itself open. A wide ramp telescoped outward, hitting the ground in a nearly silent *clank*.

Everyone gasped in both awe and fear when an entourage of pointy-ear beings begin walking down the ramp. Clothed in garb that reminded Haisten of his ancestors in olden and more festive eras, the beings were just a sleek as their vessel and their movements were very graceful. As the sun reflected off their polished bodies, the beings looked as if they were fashioned by the very hands of gods.

Followed by two files of beings who Haisten deduced to be soldiers, who were carrying strange weapons, were two beings whose clothing made them stand out from the rest. By their body shape, Haisten could tell that both of them were females. One of them wore a red dress and a large circular headdress that adorned her head of long, curly blonde hair. Hanging at her side was a large mace-like weapon that visibly warped the air around it as if vibrating really fast. The other female; however, wore a long flowing robe over a sort of dress, both in colors of sky blue, white, and black. Having long, straight white hair, the female also wore a large circular device on a small backpack that gave her the appearance of a haloed saint. Both females wore smiles warm enough to immediately dissolve arguments.

The moment the 'halo' became wreathed in bluish energy, Haisten and the group gasped when a wave of calm and peace washed over them. At that very moment, Haisten immediately forgot about the dire situation at Fort Fraygus. He'd even stopped caring about the previous defeat at the Frinica River. In fact, he felt more peaceful than he ever felt in his life, as if these beings were sent by the gods above to usher the world into utopia.

"We bring greetings to you from the Celestial Mother, dear souls," the female being wearing the robe spoke, having a voice gifted by the angels or at least that's what Haisten thought. "We have arrived to impart unto you the wonderful blessings that come with joining Her flock."

Haisten's legs gave in due to sheer shock and he fell onto his knees, shaking visibly. Noticing this, the female walked closer to him, a few of her retinue following after her. Though they too were smiling warmly as if welcoming new siblings into their 'family', Haisten knew that one act of hostility from his own soldiers would send them into a vengeful fury, resulting in the merciless annihilation of the instigators.

Fortunately, neither his knights nor his foot soldiers seemed to be inclined to threaten the beings in any way, as they were too frozen with fearful awe to do so, even as the female walked closer to their master.

When the female stopped about a meter from him, Haisten looked at the ground, feeling unworthy to look her in the eye. However, the female had other ideas and Haisten jumped slightly when she reached down and lifted his chin up to look into his eyes. As her hand was cool to the touch and was strangely hard as metal, Haisten shuddered. The female seemed to notice, as her hand warmed up considerably and her hand somehow molded to fit with the contour of his chin.

"Do not be afraid, dear soul," she spoke again in a maternal tone, in the same way a mother would console a frightened child. "We are not enemies. Rather, we are messengers who bring hope to the lost and lanterns who cast away the darkness eating away at your peace."

Haisten opened his mouth to speak. However, he was so awed by the female being's beauty, her peaceful radiance, that his words began to trail, "Who... are... you...?"

The female's smile deepened. "We have much to discuss, dear soul. First, we would like to meet your people. All of them."

''''''''''''''''''''''

While Mord'caia remained inside the city to speak with the citizenry and soldiers alike, Ioner'hes had ordered her forces to set up a base on a piece of land about two miles away that was allotted to them by Haisten while the Euthymikans set up nearby. Knowing that the natives would be terrified at the sight of the warlike Scorikai, Ioner'hes had them set up in a wasteland just about five miles west of the city. Their war chieftain, a black-scaled, towering monster of a Scorikai named Sorghan, happily agreed, as his kin loved the desert climate. To maintain a continuous line of communications with the Scorikai so that they won't become too isolated in case of a battle, the Nargavinri were placed between them and the Euthymikans, the arid glade providing them sufficient room to build a medium-sized base.

Ioner'hes herself was sitting cross-legged on a small bluff that overlooked the Euthymikan camp. Though she was impressed by her own people's technology, there was something about Euthymikan botanicraft, as it was called, that intrigued her. Unlike the ruggedness of Scorikai technology, the monotony of Nargavinri craft, and the crystal-clear efficiency but somewhat lifelessness of Methuselon robotics, the utilities of the Euthymikans seemed to truly be as alive as their designers. Their buildings pulsated as they received nourishment from the cultivators' fertilizer and can become as hard as psionclas when under attack. The leaves of their bio-generators absorbed huge quantities of the sun's energy to power Euthymikan laboratories and walking turrets alike via nearly invisible and harmless solar beams. The monsters that fight alongside their ground forces are a mixture of plant, fungi, and insect life. Their gaiathurgists or psykers are the lead scientists of each lab who often stick close to their respective locations, dedicating most of their time to improving existing botanicraft, as well as researching new technologies.

However, there were even more to these people.

Ioner'hes continued to watch the camp as swarms of insects that were a cross between bees and fireflies flew from one Euthymikan to another, sipping nectar from flowers that grew via a voluntary stimulus from the host herself out of the palms of her hands. Having contact with the pollen the insects often spread around, the flowers would then swell into fruits two weeks later. As the fruits will seriously inhibit a Euthymikan's ability to use a weapon, she is required to remain inside the base until they become large enough to be plucked off her hands. The fruits would then be taken into a large incubator and cared for by nurses until they finally hatch. The newly born Euthymikan children would then spend the next two weeks of their childhoods being taught the ways of their people until they become old enough to learn how to fight.

Of course, it is because of this that most Euthymikans don't even know their own mothers.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Ioner'hes concentrated for a bit and tapped into the person's mind. Recognizing who it is, she relaxed. However, she was a bit tensed at the hint of anxiety the person held.

"Strategon-Sister, the native lord known as Haisten requests your immediate attention," Ioner'hes' lead Kerapsim, a former Voltakai named Kaernas, announced. Knowing that he loved fighting, Ioner'hes knew that anything that made him even a bit anxious meant that it was truly worrying. "His warriors report that a massive army is approaching his estate."

Not even moving a muscle, Ioner'hes asked, "What does this army consist of?"

"It consist of even more native aliens." Kaernas remained silent for a moment before continuing, "Will we actually have to fight them?"

Realizing why Kaernas was worried, Ioner'hes stood up and turned to smile reassuringly at the Kerapsim. "Remember that we are the true hand of Cassiopeia, not those despicable zealots of the Clausonrene Rouge. It is far wiser to awe and to entice them into becoming our brothers and sisters than to use force and coercion. Tell Haisten that I have a plan and that he should not worry."

Relieved, Kaernas bowed slightly. "As you command, Strategon-Sister."

As Kaernas ran back to the castle, Ioner'hes activated a communication device and pressed a few buttons. After a few beeps, a synthetic voice on the other end answered, _"Cassiopeia's Rod Transcom AI reporting. What is your query?"_

"Transcom, this is Strategon Ioner'hes. I am requesting for the release of Vehicular Squads 32, 29, and 44."

The AI chirped as it stored the orders. _"Very well, Strategon. What is the designated drop-off coordinates?"_

Using her Seergazer's Eye, Ioner'hes looked around in the general direction of the city until she caught sight of a large number of soldiers marching toward the eastern part of the city. Purple and golden banners waved in the breeze of the army, which numbered around five thousand troops. In the city, the citizens were frantically gathering up their belongings and heading for the castle.

"_What is the designated drop-off coordinates?"_ The AI inquired again.

Switching back to her normal vision, Ioner'hes finally responded, "In respect to current location of the settlement, the coordinates are E-21, S-30 and E-21, N-22 for Squads 32 and 29, respectively. As for Squad 44, I want them at E-44, with elevation 41."

"_Very well, Strategon. Relaying orders to deployment personnel. Stand by for execution."_

Terminating the link, Ioner'hes turned toward the army on the other side of the city, sporting a large smile on her face. In the next few minutes, they will arrive and begin assaulting the eastern wall. However, unbeknownst to them, they will get a surprise that they won't soon forget.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Sir!" one of Haisten's soldiers called, pointing at the army bearing down on the city. "I've spotted the Golden Tree of House Huwester on their banners!"

"Good," Haisten acknowledged him somberly, nodding. Counting about twenty-nine siege engines among the Huwester forces' ranks, he knew that his men, who seemed to be outnumbered 12 to 1, won't be able to hold the eastern walls for long, as least without the visitors' help. Speaking of which, one of his men reported that despite his request for help, the four armies from the heavens have not moved a muscle.

"Have they decided to abandon us to our fates?" he asked himself. Catching himself, he shook his head violently. Of course they wouldn't leave him and his men to die alone, he believed. After all, it would be of their best interest to protect them if their 'Celestial Mother', as they called their deity, was a loving goddess.

"If there was a miracle for this situation," he said to himself, averting his eyes toward a wheeled dais at the enemy army's rear. "Now would be a good time to unleash it."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Engineers, how much longer until the stone-throwers are within firing range?"

Sitting on a large, four-wheeled dais drawn by a team of eight horses sat none other that Baroness Fayestia herself. Wearing a silvery dress with a lavender overcoat, Fayestia's head of thick auburn curls was wreathed by a golden crown that dated back to the establishment of the Huwester Household untold generations ago. A jewel-encrusted sword that was fashioned by her grandfather was sheathed at her side.

"Just about a few more minutes, milady," one of the engineers answered

"Good," she responded as she sat back. For what seemed like eternity, Fayestia visualized the House banner rising over Haisten's keep as her forces took control of the city, burning any records and manuscripts praising the Bradiocs' achievements and triumphs. She visualized chaining Haisten and his entire household to the hold of a ship and sending them all plunging headlong into the abysmal maw of the Everstorm, permanently erasing every evidence of their existence.

It was the worst possible fate that can befall such a powerful house.

She was jerked back to her senses when the engineers announced that the walls were within striking distance. Knowing that this city has no chance against her army, just as Fort Fraygus would fare even less against Dietrich's forces, Fayestia's smile became a fierce grin, believing that those banners flying on the walls could really use far less green and much more purple.

"Open fi- ," just as Fayestia was about to finish uttering the words, the afternoon sky above flashed in a series of strange blue lights. Several objects enveloped in cyan bubbles fell toward the ground between the army and the city. Just as transfixed as the rest of her men and the city's defenders, Fayestia watched as the closest bubble inched toward the ground until it hit in a splash of bluish energy. Gasping as she shielded her eyes from the flare of light that followed, Fayestia finally mustered the courage to take a look. What she saw chilled her to the core.

Standing tall enough to peer over the walls of the city was a terrifying, humanoid, living statue. With gleaming white and black parts with red markings painted on them, the monstrosity held a massive broadshield in one hand and a huge sword that emitted a strange alien glow in the other hand. Its elongated head sported a single glowing 'eye' that seemed to peer into her very soul. Her soldiers shuddered, whimpering in fear when the giant gave a loud synthetic roar.

Fayestia was so afraid that she could barely speak coherently, "W-wh-wh-what sorcery is this?!"

'''''''''''''''''''

For atop a nearby tower, Ioner'hes smiled inwardly when she sensed a wave of fear coming from the enemy army. In the distance, the Principali Combat Walker took a step toward the army just as more energy bubbles rained down from the Fhaelokon hiding in the clouds above, bursting apart to reveal even more Principali. Made almost entirely for melee and slightly taller than a Wraithlord, a Principali is a frightening sight indeed. Even the Turanek had once given pause at facing such an opponent until they'd started building their own walkers. The aura of fear coming from the army turned into sheer terror, especially when the squad of Methuselon artillery known as Kameroteks appeared just about fifty-two meters from the Principali. Mounted on a similar chassis to the Psyon, a Kamerotek's missile barrage is truly devastating.

"Kamerotek Squad, initiate Stormy Awe protocol." she ordered the respective group of robots via tightbeam. "Complete detonation at thirty meters from hostile army, elevation fifty-one."

Turning their missile batteries toward the army, the Kameroteks opened fire. Hundreds of missiles flew like a great swarm, arcing toward the aliens. When they were about thirty meters from the army, they detonated. For the next fifteen minutes, the sky in front of the Huwester army broiled like a really intense fireworks display, causing the soldiers to cower behind their shields as the defenders of the city cheered on, jeering at them. Shrapnel pocketed the ground in front of the army at a safe distance.

"I hope that I didn't awe them too much," Ioner'hes wondered.

Unable to take it anymore, the army began routing, each soldier fending for him or herself while scrabbling away from the 'monsters' who fell down from the heavens. Just as frightened, Fayestia was pushed against the arm of her chair as the drivers goaded the horses into a steep U-turn, causing the dais to veer to the right, leaning toward the left precariously. Unfortunately, the two wheels there broke under the dais' weight and Fayestia was quickly thrown off as the large cart flipped over. Had she remained in the chair, she would've been crushed to death under the dais' immerse weight. However, her drivers were even more unlucky, as what was left of them were bloody smears under the heavy cart.

Choking on the dusty ground, Fayestia slowly stood back up, noticing the strange, eerie silence that surrounded the scene. Nursing a scraped elbow, Fayestia slowing look around, noticing that her soldiers were standing still, their faces as pale as ghosts. Following their gazes, Fayestia herself became as still as a statue, her mouth opened in a wordless gasp at what she saw. Forming into a wall to prevent the army from escaping was no less than twenty-eight of what could best be described as large spheres with four pairs of strange wings adorned with smaller implements that gave off a soft glow, threatening anyone who tried to escape with unfathomable wrath.

"_Virontek Drone maintaining Linear Containment protocol_", one of the infernal 'demons' chirped in an unnatural voice.

"_It can talk!"_ Fayestia's mind screamed in horror, realizing that they may've dropped down in front of them as they were fleeing, perhaps at about forty-four meters from the city wall.

Suddenly, an area of swirling and glow matter materialized about fifteen meters away before disappearing in a flash of light, leaving a group of the strangest people she'd ever seen in her life, though she wasn't even sure if they can even be called people.

"We are people, dear soul, " Mord'caia said warmly. Flanking her were the intimidating Psycrum Legionnaires, the strongest infantry in the Methuselon military, seconded only by the Kerapsim. Underneath their mask-shaped faceplates, the Psycrum wore expressions of stoic welcome, along with a hint of well hidden, cold wariness that came with being such elite troops.

Fayestia was even more stunned that the 'person', who appeared to be a female, could read her mind. As the female, who appeared to be wearing a sort of religious attire, approached her, Fayestia instinctively and slowly reached for her sword. Noticing the movement, the Psycrum tightened their grips on their melee weapons. However, Fayestia's own soldiers were too stunned to even noticed the exchange.

"Don't, " the female being said firmly, stopping at about five meters away. "We are not here to fight but rather to give you and your people a new life, if only you will accept it."

Looking around, Fayestia saw that all of her soldiers were looking at her. Immediately, she recognized the look in their eyes and understood. For generations, these soldiers have served the House of Huwester, protecting and expanding its holdings. In return, the Huwesters had rewarded them tremendously, as well as going as far as exempting their families from taxation. As a result, their loyalty have reached a point in which they would do what they are ordered to do, even if the task proved to be suicidal.

Of course, Fayestia couldn't find it in herself to throw away her soldiers' lives in a hopeless attack so she finally let her hand fall to her side as her soldiers sheathed their weapons.

Swallowing, Fayestia looked into the female's eyes and, after mustering enough courage, finally muttered, still holding onto her pride, "I... I still wanted that city."

The female stranger only smiled. "In that case, you would have to negotiate with Baron Haisten, though I'm afraid that he wouldn't give it up so easily. However, join us and we'll give you something that's worth much more than a mere city."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**Early afternoon**

Standing on the roof of his keep and overlooking his estate, Lord Haisten looked on as the surrounding city was busy with activity. The sleek-bodied visitors or the 'Methuselon', as they called themselves, were working with his builders and engineers to improve both his castle and city. The grain silos were made to hold more grain, old buildings were renovated and made much stronger, and the irrigation systems were improved, along with the farming techniques his people used for generations. Even a filtration and sewage system was built, which allowed water to be pumped from the nearby Lake Gersenna and filtered for widespread use before being filtered again as wastewater before being pumped back into the lake. For the first time in his life, Haisten noticed how bad the previous water tasted.

In the meantime, envoys of Methuselon soldiers and his own troops were sent to his distant estates and to Fort Fraygus to spread news of the visitors, their 'vehicles' carrying the delegations at speeds unmatched by even the fastest thoroughbreds.

In addition to providing improvement to the city, the Methuselon introduced their beliefs. Temples were built as more and more people converted to this 'Celestial Creed'. Of course, they were allowed to keep their previous faiths too if they chose to, being the few who decided to hold onto both their original faiths and the Creed. Haisten himself was one of those people. Though he worshipped the Celestial Mother, he found that she reminded him of Peacas, the god of peace and Frendra, the goddess of dreams and the future. He then began to wonder whether they were actually her in another incarnation.

However, only a few people calmly rejected the Creed in favor of their ancestral deities.

Religion aside, his people's ailments and disabilities were being cured by the visitors' healers. Lines of people led to tents set up by the Methuselon's plant-women allies, the Euthymikans, who worked wonders with their seemly shamanic yet surprisingly effective medical arts. Parasites were removed and illnesses were cured within hours. Crippled limbs and deteriorated senses were restored back to normal function and even lost limbs were grown and reattached. No doubt the zealots on every continent in this world would be decrying such miracles as witchcraft or heresy, not that he cared. Besides, in his experiences, people who were close-minded tended to lash out against things they didn't fully understand.

Other than the Methuselon and Euthymikans, Haisten also met the other two races. Guided by the red-cladded Methuselon who he later known to be Ioner'hes, he first visited the Nargavinri. Resembling bipedal, overgrown rodents, they were cladded in monotonous tan armor which only showed a few prominent markings for those of higher ranks. What was so strange about them was that each of their names started with a single syllable word that was followed by six numbers. What was even strange was that they followed orders mindlessly and as a group. It was as if neither of them have anything to speak of an individual identity. The Nargavinri were also the most numerous of the four armies.

The fourth race; however, was very frightening in appearance. Known as Scorikai, these fearsome lizard people were adorned with crude armor covered in spikes. So unlike the other three races, they come in a variety of colors and shapes that best fit their personalities. The red Scorikai are quick-tempered, impatient, extremely fast, and always eager for a fight. The blue Scorikai; however, are patient, calm and calculating, and more intelligent. The brown Scorikai are massive indeed, often using their great strength in various ways, including in warfare. The black Scorikai; however, seemed to combine these traits within themselves and tend to stand out as leaders. Last but not least, there were the purple Scorikai. Unlike the others, each of these lizard people was lithe, almost serpentine in shape, and boasted a dragon-like head with a large third eye in the center of the forehead that seemed to peer into his very substance. On top of that, they emitted a strange aura that really made them stand out from the others.

Of course, Ioner'hes told him that each Scorikai can consciously grow new enhancements, such as wings, or improve existing limbs as the situation demanded, though they can only change into another shape and color if there was a deficiency within that particular group. However, changing into a purple Scorikai is extremely hard, if not also dangerous.

Overall, the Scorikai seemed to be much more civilized and relatively even-tempered than the monsters who'd lain waste to hundreds of great houses bordering the Great Waste on the other side of the world...

Suddenly, Haisten snapped out of his musings as he remembered something. Without a word, he ran downstairs, rushing pass surprised servants and soldiers. Tearing out of the doors, he ran to a part of the castle where he'd last seen Ioner'hes. Along the way, he cursed his forgetfulness as he turned a corner, having a gut feeling that the visitors arrived at a better time. After a few more minutes of running, Haisten finally found Ioner'hes at the local farmers market, inspecting a fruit stand with a pair of Euthymikans. When the regular customers and sellers saw him, they quickly bowed in respect, causing Ioner'hes and her two companions to turn to face him.

"Afternoon, Baron Haisten-Brother..." Seeing the ruler pant in the balmy afternoon air, gulping in swallows of breaths, she became a bit worried, even tensed. "What seemed to be the matter?"

Finally able to breath a bit easier, Haisten glanced around to see everyone's eyes on him. "Let's go to a more secluded place, Ioner'hes...Sister," he finally said.

Nodding in understanding, Ioner'hes spoke to the two Euthymikans before turning back to Haisten. "Let's go back to your keep."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''

Twenty-one minutes later...

Dining room of the keep.

For the lesser half of an hour, Ioner'hes' psychomeld face was as stiff and expressionless as a real mask as Haisten explained to her what was on his mind:

"For centuries, we and the other kingdoms have been fighting these monsters, regaining a mile of territory for every five miles they took from us. These brutes craved war so much that many kingdoms around the Great Waste endured many casualties in every attack they launched against them, sometimes reaching well over one thousand per week in some areas. Each of these monsters are green and are much taller than the average soldier and has the strength of ten men. The largest of them; however, are strong enough to fling an armored destrier forty meters, even more as I've once witnessed. Every battle we won against them resulted into heavy losses, yet they seemed to keep coming."

Ioner'hes' eyes narrowed at the baron's description of the brutes, realizing that they could be who she believed they were. Nevertheless, she decided to dig deeper, "About these brutes, have they fought you with strange weaponry?"

Haisten narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Now that you mentioned it, the monsters fought us with crude swords, spears, and axes, as well as giant boars, at first. However that all changed on that fateful night."

"On that night, while I was on a tower at one of the now destroyed keeps closest to the Great Waste, I saw a storm of stars fall from the heavens in the distance, landing somewhere deep in the huge desert. At first, I'd thought nothing of it until the next morning. For six straight days, loud rumblings and explosions came from the Great Waste as steady plumes of smoke rose into the air. It was almost as if the brutes were fighting whatever those stars brought with them. Unable to take it anymore, I'd left the keep with some of my men after leaving the rest behind to help out the defenders and went back home. Two weeks later, rumors that I'd rather forget started flooding into my city and castle like harbingers of doom."

"Though the rumors often changed and were spoken differently by the speakers, they all pointed to one horrible truth: the green brutes were attacking us again. However, this time they brought with them weapons that spat out fire and thunder in rapid succession, killing scores of soldiers within minutes, no matter how thick the armor. The brutes also brought with them monsters of steel that walked like bowlegged babies and can rip and slice a horse into bloody pieces effortlessly, as well as other monsters that crawled along the earth, some of them being able to blast a hole in a castle wall with nothing but fire and thunder. The brutes had even summoned flying demons of steel that rained down fiery birds of death and destruction. Hundreds of great houses fell to the monsters and many people were either enslaved or massacred before the annual dust storm permeated the Great Waste, forcing the brutes to hunker down. That was three weeks ago... is there something wrong?"

Already, Ioner'hes' psychognitor brain was already in overdrive. She was beginning to formulate a plan to face the coming storm. Unfortunately, her race knew too little of the Krorks' descendants, neither did they have a firm grasp of their battle tactics. Taking into consideration the sliver of information she gleaned from watching the video, Ioner'hes thus assumed that the Orks valued overwhelming their enemies with sheer numbers and inflicting attrition, though with insufficient information, the assumption was inherently flawed as Orks could proved to be unpredictable. Ioner'hes didn't even know exactly how many Orks she would face but she knew that when they come, they will literally cover the entire land.

"How long will the dust storm last?" she finally asked Haisten.

"About five more days, at the most," he said somberly. "Have I suggest a front to defend against?"

When Ioner'hes nodded, Haisten continued, "You know the wilderness where the Scorikai are currently camped? Just about twenty-three miles from that area are the closest reaches of the Great Waste. We may be able to defend that position if we hold the pass five miles from the city that opens up to the wilderness, though I doubt that the brutes would only be walking. There are rumors of them even flying on birds of fire strapped to their backs."

Ioner'hes was stunned beyond belief at Haisten's revelation, as if the lack of sufficient time wasn't shocking enough.

Sensing her surprise, Haisten decided to put the final nail in the coffin. "We are the only kingdom that's this close to the Great Waste and to the waiting brute horde. If this castle and city falls, the rest of the world will be opened to greenskinned hell..."

To be continued...


End file.
